


The Ghosts We Know

by danicoro



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Interrogation, Kidnapping, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Sexual Harassment, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 00:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12642894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danicoro/pseuds/danicoro
Summary: It's said that time heals all wounds, but Emara has learned that some wounds can never truly heal. It's been four years since the fall of Overwatch, and while she's done all she can to leave the past behind, she'll soon discover that the ghosts she's held onto were never ghosts at all.





	1. Watcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! Thank you so much for your interest in my work! This story is based off an evolving headcanon, and the first several chapters were conceptualized prior to Moira's and Archives: Retribution lore being introduced into Overwatch canon and lore. As such, this (as all works containing OCs) should be considered an AU! I hope you'll enjoy it! (*´꒳`*)❤

Emara shivered as she blinked her eyes open. The room was still dark, and she glanced at her alarm clock—2:12 AM glowed on the screen in a low, orange hue. She looked towards her bedroom window, seeing the bright, white glow of the waning moon in the sky. After a moment, she lay her head back down on her pillow, her brow furrowed in a knot as she tucked the covers a little tighter around her. _It’s cold…_

* * *

The next night, she woke again, a shiver rushing up her spine. For a moment, she thought she must be imagining it, but the feeling remained—a distinct sense of being watched. Lifting her head, she looked at the clock—1:57 am. She tapped the console, and subtle orange light spilled into the room as she sat up, and startled. _I thought I closed my door…_

She pushed her covers back, rubbing at her bare arms against the chill in her room. _Do I need to turn the heat pump up again?_ She wondered, approaching the door. The chill seemed to grow worse as she drew closer to the opening, a shudder shooting up her spine as she pushed the door closed, listening for the soft click.

She waited to see if the latch would pop open, wondering if it had weakened. When nothing happened, she made a soft _hmph_ , and scurried back to her bed. Tapping the console again, the light blinked out, and she curled up in her covers.

* * *

When she woke on the third night, her body was wracked by the cold, and a faint scent of decay invaded her nostrils. Once more, a distinct sense of being watched overtook her, and she froze. As her anxiety slowly faded, the thrum of her heart in her ribcage finally settled, and she pushed herself to sit up.

The door to her bedroom sat open, again. She swallowed, despite the tightness in her throat, squinting against the darkness.

“Hello?” She called. Her voice seemed to dissolve in a vacuum, and her heart stuttered in her chest. No answer came, and she huffed. _Of course not_ , she chided herself, rubbing at her eyes as she threw her covers back.

She nearly yelped at the cold that skittered over her skin, and wrapped her arms tightly around her body. She exhaled, and through the cool light from the moon, saw the spectre of her breath. Her brow furrowed as she slid off the mattress, moving towards her doorway, where the cold only seemed to grow more intense. She let out a shuddering groan as she pushed the door closed, and didn’t bother to wait and see if it slipped back open, hurrying towards her bed and wrapping up in the covers again.

_What’s going on?_

* * *

Emara tapped a few commands in the console of her tablet, selecting a few different functions as she stood in the centre of her room. She glanced up into the corner where she’d installed the tiny keyhole camera that afternoon, then looked down at the screen again. Seeing herself stood in the same spot on the display, she tapped in a few more settings, then closed the application, and set it on the small desk in the corner.

Looking up at the corner, she watched the camera blink a few times to confirm the feed was running, and then crossed the room to lay down in her bed, curling up into the covers.

* * *

On the eighth night, she woke up. She glanced at the clock—2:13 AM. _It’s been a while_ , she thought, curling up a little tighter. That feeling of being watched washed over her, and she stuck her head under the covers.

“Go away,” she muttered. Slowly, the prickling cold began to fade, and she fell asleep again.

* * *

As she pushed herself up off the mattress the next morning, she rubbed at her neck. “Time to check the feed and see nothing again,” she muttered, crossing the room towards her desk. She tapped the tablet and selected the feed rewind as she pulled on her dress robe, padding out into the kitchen to make herself a hot drink.

The prickling cold had faded, but the memory of it lingered. She sat down in the chair at her desk, hot mug of tea in her hands as she tapped on the fast forward function, watching a sped-up version of the night’s events. She turned over a few times, or shifted in her sleep, but as she had seen since installing the camera—nothing was out of the ordinary.

The feed flickered, and a dark mass appeared at the edge of the screen. Emara startled, and quickly tapped pause. She held her breath for a moment, then tapped on _play_ , watching as the feed continued at normal speed.

The swirling, dark mass crept into her room, pooling astride her bed where she lay, curled up on her side. Some seconds passed, and it formed into a shape, then became solid. She felt sick—she recognised that condition, but it couldn’t be… right? She squinted as she watched, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.

The hooded figure only stood there for a long time, watching her sleep. Hours seemed to pass—but in reality, only seconds—as she watched and waited for something to happen. Her chest squeezed uncomfortably, and she realised she’d been holding her breath.

She swallowed a gulp of air as she turned away from the screen, choking on her breath as she wrapped her arms around herself—she was _so cold_ , all of a sudden. Looking at the screen again, the figure moved. A great hand reached out, and she held her breath again.

With resounding shudder, she shook her head to clear the jumble of her thoughts. The figure pulled off one of its spiked gauntlets, and a moment later, drew its knuckles down her cheek. They picked up a tuft of hair, and tucked it behind her ear. Emara felt unsettled. It was so eerie to watch this figure handle her so intimately.

_Maybe I know him?_ She wondered. She banished that thought as quickly as it came. _Of course I don’t. And even if I did, what’s the big idea, coming into my house and handling me while I’m sleeping?_

The figure crouched down next to her, and she watched with bated breath. He seemed to be speaking to her, but the keyhole camera wasn’t supposed to pick up sounds—just video. She swallowed as he leaned forward, touching his face to hers. From the angle, she couldn’t tell if he’d kissed her or not, and she touched her lips unconsciously.

As quickly as it had manifested, it was gone, slinking away into the corner of her screen in a pool of smoky tendrils. She watched herself curl up tighter and stick her head under the covers.

She paused the feedback as she sat, utterly dumbfounded. Her mind filled with thoughts about who this could be, what it meant, and what she should do.

Did she go to the police? No—what could they do, after all? Friends? Again, what could be done? She thought for a moment that perhaps she had imagined what had happened, but she dismissed that thought, as well. _No, it’s there. I saw it._

Who could she tell? No one would believe her. She even struggled to reconcile it, and she’d seen the footage.

By the time she had stopped wracking her brains, her stomach was growling angrily, and her tea had gone cold.

* * *

She wasn’t sure if she imagined the sound or not—like hissing whispers—as a black mass formed beside her bed. Her pulse climbed rapidly, even as she lay still, staring wide-eyed. A mask—shaped like a barn owl, it seemed—loomed over her menacingly, and she held her breath as she trembled. It was so cold, all of a sudden, and there was that faint, earthy scent of decay again. The figure tilted its head as it watched her, and reached out with a clawed gauntlet. She didn’t flinch, too shocked to move, and a thumb drew down the shape of her cheekbone.

“You should be sleeping,” the figure rasped in a low, gravelly timbre.

She swallowed. “Why? So you can watch me sleep some more?” She demanded, shocked by the sound of her own voice. He tilted his head again, but without the benefit of a face, she couldn’t read him.

“Go to sleep, Em,” he demanded.

Emara’s heart leapt into her throat as she sat up. “Who are you?” She demanded. “How do you know my name?”

He dissipated into a cloud of smoke and whisked across the room to partially manifest in her open doorway.

“A ghost,” he finally said, looking over his shoulder.

“Wait—” Emara called after him, but he was already gone. An eerie sense of familiarity washed over her, and she swallowed. _Why did you call me Em?_

* * *

Emara had already sat up in her bed when he arrived the next night. He manifested next to her, as if he were resigned to her insistence, and waited. She regarded him with a critical eye for a long minute, and then wrapped her arms around her knees.

“Who are you?” She asked again, quietly. “I feel like I know you. Something about you is… familiar, and you know my name. But, I don’t know yours.”

A long minute passed in silence while she watched him, and waited. He reached out to stroke her hair, brushing a thumb over her brow.

“I told you, I’m a ghost,” he replied.

Emara grabbed his wrist— _Jesus, you’re cold_ —and yanked him towards her. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she lied.

He took his hand from her and thumbed over the plump swell of her lips. “Yes, you do,” he replied. The strange familiarity with which he handled her made her fluster. It was so, _so familiar_ , but every part of her screamed that who she thought it might be couldn’t possibly. _He’s dead. You know that._

She didn’t push him away, and heat flooded her cheeks as warmth bloomed out in her chest. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, tell me who you are…”

He leaned down so that his mask was barely inches from her face, and she could feel the cold rolling off him in waves.

“ _A ghost_ ,” he hissed.

Emara had a moment where her heart squeezed with anxiety, but then, she began to laugh. “Are you trying to scare me?” She asked. He wrapped his hand around her throat, and she gasped in shock at the cold of his grip. She grabbed his forearm, but didn’t try to struggle. Again, the strange familiarity with which he handled her made her feel warm, and her skin burned beneath his touch.

“Are you scared?” He whispered. She shook her head, and she heard him _hmph_ behind his mask. His hand loosened and drew down, the metal of his gauntlet scraping lightly over the shape of her collarbones. “Maybe you should be.”

Silence hung between them as they stared each other down.

“Who are you?” She whispered again. He leaned forward so his mask was pressed into the curve of her throat, and the intimacy of the gesture sent a wave of heat down her spine, even as the cold that emanated from him shocked her.

“ _A ghost_ ,” he hissed again, and vanished into a plume of tendrilous smoke.

* * *

She sat up in her bed, and listened—slow, heavy footfalls. Was it him, again? That strange, masked wraith who kept coming to her? She slipped out from under the covers, and headed towards the door of her room—she’d gotten into the habit of leaving it open, now. She strained to listen, but didn’t hear anything else. Pulling her dress robe from the hook on her door, she shrugged it on and tied it closed as she crept down the short hall towards her living room.

There, at the mantle, he stood with his back facing her. She watched him for a minute while he seemed to regard the spread of photographs lain out there. She held her breath as he reached out, and picked up a particular photo. She knew which one it was from where she stood—it was her favourite, and sat in the center of the mantle.

_Why’s he interested in a photo of me with Gabe?_ She wondered. She closed some of the distance between them, her arms crossed over her belly.

“Hey.”

In an instant, he dissipated and reformed, towering over her with a low, angry growl. She didn’t step back or flinch, but looked up at his looming figure for a minute, and then with slow, deliberate steps, moved around him, towards the photo frame that he had unceremoniously dropped.

Brushing aside shards of glass and plastic, she stayed crouched as she looked for a long time at the photo, thumbing delicately over the shape of Gabe’s face in the picture.

“You looking for a girlfriend?” She asked, finally. The sarcasm in her voice was palpable, but her voice still wavered. She stood, and offered the photo in his direction. He stood still, regarding her over his shoulder for a long minute. When it became clear he wouldn’t take it, she took it back and looked at it again.

Her expression became distant, filled with a longing ache as she swallowed around a lump in her throat. “It’s my husband,” she murmured.

“Well… my almost-husband,” she added, after a moment. “I lost him before I actually got the chance to be his wife. But I wanted to be, more than anything…” Her voice shrank until it was nothing more than a whisper, and she tried again to swallow around the hard lump.

Embarrassed and angry, she laughed out a sob. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this… I don’t even know who you are…”

_Don’t you?_ Another long, tense moment of silence hung between them as she gazed at the photo once again. When she finally relinquished her attention, her hand fell to her side with the photo clutched in her fingers, and she looked up at the man who stood in front of her.

_A ghost…_ His voice echoed through her mind again, and she narrowed her eyes at him. _It can’t be you, can it? They told me you died. You were dead. I grieved you._ She winced— _did I really?_

_A ghost._ The condition, his shape, the way he touched her… The inflection of his voice, the timbre… Her grip on the photo tightened, and a painful tightness bloomed out in her chest.

She swallowed, and drew in a breath. “Is it you, Gabriel?” She felt foolish for asking— _of course it’s not him. He’s dead._ A beat of silence. _But then why does he seem to know me so intimately?_

The man in front of her didn’t speak. He only growled—once. _If it’s not you, why don’t you say so?_ The silence—the growl—were his answer.

“Gabe…” she whispered his name like it was a prayer. He didn’t move, or speak, but only regarded her, and she wondered what his face might be able to tell her.

Finally, the dam within her cracked, and she started to cry. Exhausted and overwhelmed, she sank to her knees on the floor, and sobbed.

Above her, the wraith watched the scene unfold, and though his heart only beat occasionally, he could feel it thrumming in his chest. He wondered how she had figured him out so easily—but then, he hadn’t exactly tried to hide it.

She started to babble suddenly, talking about how much she’d missed him, and asking him where he’d been these last years. _They told me you died in the explosion at Zurich_ —his chest grew tight— _why didn’t you come to me sooner?_

“Please, Gabe… answer me,” she pleaded, her chest heaving with sobs. Thick, tense silence hung between them while she wept, wiping feebly at her eyes as he stood over her, watching, his fingers flexing at his sides.

Minutes passed, though it felt like hours to him as his heart thrummed and squeezed—he hated to see her cry. She looked up at him after her breaths had evened out, her expression pleading.

“Please, let me see you. Let me see your face, Gabriel. I have to know if it’s you…”

Tendrilous smoke billowed out around him, but he didn’t move, and Emara only waited.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he finally rasped.

Emara laughed dryly as she rolled her eyes, then shook her head. “Then prove me wrong,” she demanded. “Your flair for the dramatic certainly hasn’t changed. You certainly seem like you’re still you.”

_I’m not_ , he seemed to say with his tense posture, but he didn’t refute her again.

She stood slowly, and could see the smoke tendrils billowing around him even more intensely. She moved with agonizing slowness, crossing the small space between them, and each step seemed to make the smoke billow harder. She reached for him, and he stayed still. Her brow furrowed with apprehensive hopefulness as she closed the last of the distance.

At the slightest pressure of her fingers against his mask, he vanished and was gone. Emara drew in a heaving breath as she crumpled to her knees, left with nothing but a painful ache in her chest.

* * *

She waited on her sofa the next night, hoping he might come back.

He did.

The lights were off, and the curtains open to let the dull light of the moon illuminate her surroundings. She heard him before she saw him, manifesting behind the sofa, and stood to round out from her seat. He stood before her, and after a moment, she approached him with cautious, slow steps. She pressed her hand into his chassis, and he remained still—she wondered if he was watching her beneath the darkness of his mask. Her fingers kneaded into him, and he let out a stilted growl.

She closed the distance between them, and put her arms around his broad torso. He was cold, but being close to him like that felt so familiar that she nearly sobbed. She buried her face into his chest, trembling, but he remained still.

“Hold me, please, Gabe,” she murmured, the dam within her cracking once more. “Just for a minute.”

There was a pause, and her heart sank— _maybe it really isn’t him_ —then, he shifted, and his thick arms wrapped around her. She nearly sobbed, but endured, squeezing him a little tighter. After a time, she stepped back, letting her arms fall to her sides as she looked up at him.

“Will you let me see you? Please?” She whispered. A long moment of tense silence hung between them.

Finally, he shifted, reaching a clawed hand up towards his face. She reached forward and caught his wrist, and he stopped.

“Can I?”

“You don’t know how,” he gritted, carefully batting her hands away. She clasped her hands together, wringing them fretfully as she watched. He drew his hood back, then reached for a clasp that let out a click, then a hiss, and finally lowered it down.

She held her breath as he pressed it into her hands.

There he was. His skin was grey, mottled in some parts with inconsistent cell decay. Black sclera and red irises stared back at her, black smoke wisping off his skin.

His expression looked angry, and bitter—she couldn’t tell why. The mask clattered to the ground as she reached up, taking his face in her hands. He startled, and grabbed her wrists gruffly—but he didn’t shove her away. After a moment, he let himself close his eyes. Holding her fast, he turned his face into the warmth of her palm. The soft kiss he left was barely there, but his grip on her wrists slackened before he let go.

“Hey,” she called to him, and he turned his gaze back on her. She turned her hand over, drawing her knuckles down his cheek. “Does it hurt?” She asked.

“No,” he rasped. Something in his expression looked dazed and far off as her touch drew over his face—his cheeks, his temple and brow, the bridge of his nose. As she slid the pad of her thumb over the shape of his lips, they pursed and he pressed a soft kiss against the digit.

He was startled by the sound of his exhale as she took her hands away from his face—the loss of the warmth of her touch seemed nearly too much to bear. He swallowed as he regarded her, and she looked pensive, then beckoned him down.

He knew this song and dance—they’d done it countless times before, over the years, and so he leaned down to hear what he thought was a secret. She pushed up on her toes to catch his mouth in a soft kiss, and he recoiled, stepping back.

“I’m sorry—” she blurted.

“Why?” He demanded. She looked away from him, flustered and overwhelmed as pain bloomed out in her chest. When she finally looked back at him, her eyes were wet with tears.

“Because I love you, Gabriel.”

He balked. “ _Look at me_ ,” he snapped, indignant.

“I am,” she replied, tears rolling down her cheeks. He regarded her for a long time, her expression filled with hurt, but also with longing—the same longing she’d always had in her eyes, even all those years ago, when he was less monster and more man.

He reached forward to brush his knuckles over her cheek. It was cold, and made uncomfortable by the metal of his gauntlets, but she still closed her eyes as she leaned into his touch.

“You don’t know what I’ve become,” he muttered.

She opened her eyes as she turned her gaze up at him, sharp and unrelenting. “I don’t need to,” she whispered. “I never did. You know that.”

He exhaled a gravelly sigh, and closed the distance between them. He kissed her—not eager, but not impassive, either. Willing—as was she.

It felt different than it used to, but he blamed himself for that. Her lips were soft against his chapped ones, but the warmth of her filled him with yearning. Before he’d realised it, he’d caught her about the waist, the claws of his gauntlets digging into her skin, tearing the fabric of her shirt.

He paused for breath, leaning his forehead against hers. A sensation of being overwhelmed traveled through him, and he closed his eyes.

_I want you._ He recoiled, letting go of her to take step back.

She let out a soft cry of despair. “Gabe, don’t go. Please,” she whispered, reaching for him. The inhuman growl that emanated from his chest made her pause, but her expression was riddled with anxiousness. He reached forward and drew his knuckles over her cheek again, then down along her jaw. He caught her chin, and leaned in to press a tender kiss against her forehead.

Collecting his mask from the floor, he slipped it back into place with a low, hissing click.

She reached for him. “Gabriel, _please—_ ”

He caught her wrist, and raised a clawed finger to his mask as a gesture of silence. “Wait for me,” he rasped.

A moment later, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! If you liked my writing, please leave me a comment to let me know! It makes my day every time, and helps motivate me to continue writing! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭♡


	2. Lachrymose

The soft din of Emara making tea from the kitchen wafted through the apartment. Reclining across her sofa, the Reaper glanced up at the wall clock—2:37 AM. _Hmm…_

The soft _click_ of Emara turning off the kitchen light drew his attention, and a moment later, she appeared out of the darkness, illuminated only by the ambient light pouring in through the window. She took a sip from her mug of tea before setting it down on the glass coffee table, and sat next him on the sofa. Hands in her lap, she curled a leg up beneath her as she regarded the cold stare of his mask.

He reached up to stroke his gloved hand down her arm, watching as her skin pilled into goosebumps from the cold. She didn’t complain, but leaned a little closer.

“Can I?”

He gave a curt nod, and she reached up for the clasp on his mask, lifting it to set it aside on the coffee table. Pulling down his cowl, exposing the tuft of his curls, she lifted her hands, fingers wriggling as she reached for him again.

Drawing back slightly, she bit her lip. “Is it alright, Gabe? Can I touch you?”

He let out a soft exhale, and nodded. She leaned in with a giddy smile, carding her fingers through his dark hair. The gentle warmth of her touch struck him like mortar, and he groaned as he found himself dazed.

His far-off expression wasn’t lost on her, and she stroked her thumbs over his temples. “Hey,” she called to him. He turned his gaze on her briefly, then closed his eyes as he took one of her hands and turned to press soft kisses against her fingertips, down her palm and wrist.

“Gabe,” she called him again. The sharp exhale of his breath was cool against her skin, and he turned to look up at her, his gaze still distant as he hummed.

“Are you okay?” She murmured.

He grunted, biting at her thumb as it passed over his lips. She leaned down to press a few soft kisses against his brow, her hands slowly drifting down the plane of his chest. Pleasure rippled out from his belly and spread over his skin.

 _I want you…_ His chest rumbled with a purr of content, his lips ghosting over the curve of her cheek.

Warmth spread out from her core, and she squirmed a little. “Are you really alright, Gabe?” She murmured, nuzzling his brow before leaving a kiss on the bridge of his nose.

“Never better,” he mumbled, his clawed gauntlets flexing and digging into the skin of her back through her shirt. She winced, and he noticed.

Letting out a low growl, he quickly tugged his gloves off. The cold of his touch wasn’t unexpected, but it still made her gasp. It was soft in comparison to the scrape of metal claws, so she didn’t complain. Calloused fingers toyed along the hem of her shirt, brushing against the exposed skin of her back, and she sighed as she leaned down to press her forehead against his.

As the chill of his touch spread out over her skin, her hands once again drifted down the plane of his chest, gingerly inching closer to the clasp of his belt. He grabbed her wrist as her fingers reached past the waist of his pants, squeezing gruffly.

“Stop.”

“I’m sorry—”

“ _Stop_ ,” he repeated, pressing a thumb against her lips.

She bowed her head, face flushing with heat. “Why?” She mumbled. “Do you not want me? This isn’t the first time you’ve stopped me…”

Unpleasant tightness bloomed out in his chest as he watched her, sitting up to slide her into his lap.

Gripping her jaw in his hand, he loomed over her with a menacing stare. “Why do you want _me_?” He growled.

Her brow knit, and she looked at him with a sad, aching fondness. “Why wouldn’t I, Gabe?” She whispered. “I love you. I’ve missed you, so much…”

His brow furrowed as he regarded her, his hand slipping down to wrap loosely around her throat.

“Please, Gabriel,” she whispered, his fingers squeezing at her throat. “If you don’t want me—”

“ _Stop_ ,” he hissed again. “That’s not why.”

She pressed her lips together in a thin line. “Then tell me what’s wrong. Why won’t you let me touch you?”

“You don’t know what I am—what I look like under this,” he growled, almost gnashing his teeth as his lips curled in a snarl.

She huffed, her face twisting into a scowl. “No, I don’t, because you won’t let me in,” she snapped. A beat passed, and she batted his hand away from her. “If you don’t want me, you can just say so. But don’t keep—”

“ _Shut. Up_ ,” he demanded, pressing his thumb against her lips. “It’s _not_ because I don’t want you, so _stop saying that_.”

She flustered for a moment, then swallowed. “Then what is it, Gabriel?” She demanded, her brow furrowing as her lips curved into a frown. He scowled as he looked away, refusing to answer.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Listen… I’m not trying to force you into anything you’re not ready for—I’ll let you make that decision, but please don’t keep pretending that you’re trying to protect me from some kind of disappointment, when all you’re doing is pushing me away.”

He dissipated beneath her, leaving a cold tingling sensation in her thighs. He whisked around the room, collecting his belongings as Emara hopped off the couch.

“You can’t just keep turning into a shadow and running away whenever you don’t like what I say!”

Her words echoed in the apartment, but she was left with only the cold spectre of his presence.

* * *

Five nights passed before he came to her again. She stood as soon as she heard the hissing whispers, speaking as his form coalesced.

“I’m sorry about last time—I didn’t mean to push you,” she said, her voice soft and contrite. “I know you’re not ready for that… and maybe you never will be. That’s okay, but please, _please_ don’t run away from me…”

He regarded her in silence for a long minute, then growled, but the sound was more like a purr. He moved slowly, tugging off his gauntlets, the belts of shells, and the heavy hooded overcoat. The sound of him dropping his belongings was loud, but she didn’t flinch, only watched with bated breath. He crossed the space between them, waiting for her to slowly reach up and remove his mask.

When he met her gaze, she held her breath. “I’m ready,” he rasped, watching as she swallowed. “The question is—are you?”

She nodded without hesitation, and he hummed. He was vaguely aware of the sound of his mask clattering to the floor, but his senses were more readily assaulted by the soft, warm touch of her fingers grazing over his cheek, then down over the rough shape of his lips.

Reaching both hands up, she cradled his face. “I love you. You know that, right?” She whispered. His brow furrowed briefly, but the expression was gone nearly as quickly as it came. _How? Why?_ He didn’t speak, but turned into her hand to kiss her palm, and nodded.

She sighed quietly as she pushed up on her toes, and he leaned down to meet her lips in a soft, tender kiss. Her hands slid down the curve of his throat, over the plane of his chest, and her fingers flexed into his chassis.

As he deepened the kiss, he grabbed at her hips, pulling her flush against him. She let out a tiny gasp of shock, but put her arms around his neck, drawing herself closer. He was _cold_ , and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t grow accustomed to it— _but I’ll endure anything for you, Gabriel…_

The feeling of her skin beneath his fingers was soft and warm, and his fingertips dug in as he tracked along her back, her hips, her sides. He heard the tiny whimpers she made as his touch shocked her, cold and calloused fingers finding all the parts of her that he had known so intimately before. _I want you._ The words drifted through his mind again, and he paused—she could feel his low growling as much as she could hear it.

After several beats passed, she drew her hands down his shoulders, over the plane of his chest. “Gabe?” She called him. He didn’t speak, but instead hoisted her up into his arms, and whisked them to the sofa. Setting her down, he stood back to work at the clasps of his armour.

She could sense the tension in him as it dropped to the ground, and she squirmed as he peeled the shirt off his broad frame. Heat flooded her face, and between her legs, her heart feeling as though it had lodged in her throat— _I can’t breathe…_

He reached down to catch her chin in his fingers, drawing her up so his lips barely brushed against hers. “Are you scared?” He hissed, his hand drawing down to wrap around her throat.

She swallowed, but shook her head. “No…”

His lips curled briefly into a smile as he squeezed his fingers over her airway, pressing her into a heated, demanding kiss. When he finally loosened his grip on her, she was trembling, and looked dazed.

“Maybe you should be…” he purred.

“Never.”

Her eyes were locked on his as he stood back, but slowly they drew down from his face to his torso. Already familiar with his body, she recognised most of the scars, though she could see a few new ones, too. The ugliest one—a long, angry scar running the length of his abdomen—was new. She moved her hand forward to touch him, but stopped herself before her hand made contact.

She swallowed as she glanced up at him. “Can I?”

She sensed him relax, and he nodded his assent. Pressing a hand against his diaphragm, she felt the barely-there thrum of his heartbeat—low and slow, still beating in his chest.

“ _Oh_ ,” she sighed, leaning into him. Pressing her forehead against his belly, her fingers flexed into his cold skin—he felt almost leathery, lacking the suppleness she remembered. _He’s not the same anymore… but neither am I_ , she reminded herself.

A pleasant tightness bloomed out in her chest, and she nuzzled him. “I love you, Gabe,” she whispered as she pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. He watched as she slumped into him, and a moment later, felt the heat of her tears.

Her tears. _Why?_ His chest squeezed with unpleasant tightness as he caught her beneath the chin again, tilting her face up to look at him.

Seeing his concerned scowl, she sighed as she took his hand, turning into his palm to press a soft kiss there. “I’ve missed you, Gabe,” she whispered, standing from her seat. Reaching up, she took his face in her hands as she pushed up on her toes to kiss him. He met her, barely containing his low moan as her hands slowly moved down over the sides of his neck, the shape of his collarbones, and the planes of his chest.

Her touch was warm, and soft, and he wanted to beg her not to stop as shocks of pleasure rippled through his body, skittering over his nerves—he hadn’t realised how much he missed her touch.

Her fingers ghosted over the waist of his trousers, and he grew tense. “Now, you,” he demanded, leaning back to look at her. His fingers curled under the hem of her top, and she flustered at the raw desire and longing in his gaze. She held her breath as she lifted her arms.

Quick to respond, he whisked her shirt up and off her frame. His cold hands ran the length of her torso, goosebumps prickling at her skin. He didn’t wait to reach up behind her, unhooking the clasp of her bra. She rolled her shoulders to let it slide down her arms, but as soon as she was exposed, she moved to cover herself.

He grabbed her arms. “Don’t hide,” he insisted.

She bit her lip as she swallowed, forcing her hands back to her sides. His gaze remained on hers as he beckoned her forward. She leaned up to meet his kiss, feeling his hands slide up over her belly to trace and fondle the full shape of her breasts.

“You’re so warm,” he muttered, teasing his thumbs over her pert nipples. She shivered, and a low moan tumbled out of her. Leaning down, he bit at her throat, sucking a bruise into her skin. He pressed a gentle kiss on the mark, drawing his thumb over the welt as he looked at her.

He smirked a little, watching her tremble beneath his gaze as she bit her lip. Shifting their positions, he sat on the sofa, coaxing her into his lap where she straddled his thighs. He leaned into her, biting at her throat again to leave a mark on the other side, closer to her jaw. She tipped her head away, but he didn’t linger, drawing his biting kisses down the shape of her clavicle, and the curve of her chest.

Nibbling at her breastbone, wet, messy kisses trailed across her chest, leaving a kiss against the bud of each nipple. Then, his tongue and teeth. As his mouth made love to one side, his fingers toyed with the other, and he suckled at her until she was nearly aching, her nipples flushed and swollen.

The lewd sound of her panting was pleasant to his ears, and he leaned into her chest to give her a bite, hard enough to leave a mark. He paused briefly, his grip on her hips loosening as he nuzzled into her skin to kiss the bruise. She tipped his face up to kiss him as her hand slid down his belly, carrying past the waist of his trousers to glide over the shape of his erection. He let her touch him for a moment, his hips moving into her hand. As she put a little more pressure on him, he caught her wrist, though he didn’t push her away.

Holding her still, he brushed his lips over hers. “Careful…” he bit out in his low, gravelly timbre.

“Sorry,” she murmured as she withdrew. He hummed as his hands slid back up along her thighs to grab at her hips, pushing her down against him.

“ _Oh!_ ” She cried out. Glancing down, she bit her lip and spread her legs further as she followed his movements. “Gabe…” She whispered his name like a prayer, coaxing him into a heated kiss that made her feel dizzy.

His grip on her tightened, fingers digging into her soft skin. The slow rhythm felt natural _—_ like they’d done it hundreds of times before. He followed her movements, gripping at the round curve of her ass as he dragged her closer, increasing their tempo.

  
Emara’s mouth hung open as she followed his eager grip, pressing her forehead against his as her fingers flexed into his shoulders. Heat pooled in her belly, and spread out from her core in waves as she kissed him, deep and insistent.

The soft sound of her voice slipped out between kisses, in a cloudy haze of pleasure. “Oh, fuck me…”

She held her breath after the words passed her lips, and though he didn’t say anything, his grip on her slackened as he slowed before lifting her hips. She bit her lip, overwhelmed and embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, it just slipped out _—_ ”

Gabe pressed a thumb against her mouth as he hushed her, his free hand drawing up her thigh and over her belly. His fingers flexed as they turned down, slowly sliding over the crease of her folds, still covered by her panties. She let out a low gasp as her hips rocked into his touch.

Whispering his name like a prayer, she leaned her forehead against his and caught his lips in a slow, sumptuous kiss. He put a little more pressure behind his touch, and she gasped out a soft _yes_ , her chest heaving as she bit her lip to stifle a moan.

“You’re holding back,” he purred, leaning in to press slow kisses along the hook of her jaw. “Let me hear you, Em…”

His fingers shifted, rubbing over the nub of her clit through the fabric. Her hips jerked into his touch, and she sobbed out a moan—the sound sent a bolt of pleasure through his core. His fingers stroked and rubbed at her through the damp fabric, her breaths growing shallow as the wet spot grew under his touch.

She heard the rumble in his chest as his fingers carefully pushed her panties aside. He glanced up at her face again, heat pooling in his belly at her expression—filled with hunger and longing. He moved to cup her in his palm and she let out a tiny gasp, the paradox of temperatures making her entire body quiver.

Stroking along the folds of her labia, a finger teased at her entrance, coating the digit with her arousal before moving to the swollen nub of her clit. His touch was slow and deliberate, moving in circles over it.

She heaved out another moan, fingers curling into the meat of his shoulders. “Gabe… oh, Gabriel…” she whimpered.

He loved the sound of his name in her mouth like that—he’d missed it—and hummed as he leaned into her. Nestling his face into the curve of her throat, he left slow, open-mouthed kisses across her skin.

“Put your fingers inside me,” she whispered. His chest rumbled with a growl, and her fingers flexed against his shoulders. She pressed kiss after needy kiss against his mouth. “ _Please_ ,” she begged. He hesitated for only a moment, teasing at her entrance briefly before slowly pushing a thick finger inside.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” she groaned, pressing down against his hand. Her mouth hung open, and her gaze was distant, lost in bliss. She was hot around his finger, and he could feel the fluttering of her walls as he began to move his hand. It slowly warmed inside of her, and he shifted to let her grind her clit against his palm.

The wetness of her arousal pooled in his hand, his finger pressing in with slow, deep thrusts. After some minutes passed, he teased a second finger. She nodded eagerly, biting her lip as her brow furrowed.

He pressed the second finger in, watching as her face contorted into a wanton mask of pleasure. He could feel her spreading open to accommodate him, the pulsing of her walls only growing more apparent. He hummed out a low sound of delight, grinding his palm against her clit again as he resumed the agonizingly slow pace of sliding his fingers into her.

“Oh, Gabe…” she whined, leaning her forehead against his. “Please, don’t stop. Please… please, I need you…” The sound of her voice rushed straight to his groin, and he twitched in his trousers. He let out a growl, though it came out more like a purr, and she huffed out a stilted giggle as she coaxed him into a deep, longing kiss, her tongue chasing his as she gripped at his face.

He bit at her lip, curling his fingers forward to slowly stroke at the tender spot inside of her. She let out a stricken groan as she arched her back, her fingers curling into his scalp. He began to move faster, thrusting and curving his digits to draw loud wails and cries of pleasure out of her. The sounds of her body were wet and slick, and he could feel her trembling, her breaths stilted and uneven.

Heat emanated out of her core in waves, stinging her nerves as she clung to him. She whispered his name between soft curses and praise, and he bit hungry kisses against the curve of her throat, urging her towards the precipice of her release.

His teeth sunk into the meat of her shoulder, and she let out a stuttering cry of his name as her pleasure crested. The heat of her release spread out over his palm, trickling down his wrist and onto the fabric of his trousers. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, leaving half-moon indents as he continued pressing her. She quaked and spasmed as more and more flooded out over his hand, the confines of her walls squeezing insistently around his fingers. Only when she let out a sobbing wail, scrabbling at his wrist, did he pause.

Leaving a trail of kisses along the curve of her shoulder, he eased his fingers out. It took her a minute to calm down, and even when her breathing finally settled, he could feel her thighs trembling as he stroked his hands along them. She pressed in to kiss him as her body slumped, the chill of him seeping in and prickling her skin into goosebumps.

Leaning back, she regarded him with a shy expression as she bit her lip, and her fingers drew down his belly, lightly plucking at the hem of his trousers. “What about you?”

His chest rumbled, but he didn’t say anything. She paused on his belt buckle, and looked at him, waiting. Beneath the attempt at a menacing glare, she could see the longing in his gaze. “Can I?” She asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

He nodded.

Trepidation and delight roiled up in her stomach, twisting into a tight knot. She swallowed around the lump in her throat, moving slowly as he watched her with a hungry stare. Unclasping his belt, she glanced at him again, watching for signs of discontent. Finding none, she carried on, letting him lift his hips to aid her tugging his trousers and underwear down his thighs until he sprang free.

She bit her lip, brushing the backs of her fingers along the underside of his length. “It’s warm,” she uttered in surprise, and Gabe couldn’t help his snort.

Looking at him, she swallowed. “Can I… can I use my mouth?” She asked. His cock twitched, and he shook his head.

“No.”

“Okay,” she murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth in apology.

He turned and kissed her properly. “Not this time…” he added softly. _This time…_ Her breath hitched as she bit her lip and nodded.

Swallowing, she turned her gaze back down, pressing a hand against his belly to slowly trail towards his hips. She curled her fingers around his girth, her stroke languid and soft as she gathered the bead of precome gathered at his tip.

As she gently slid her finger against his slit, he let out a snarling growl that reverberated through his chest. He dug his fingers into the plump curve of her ass, unconsciously yanking her closer as he grit his teeth.

She held her breath. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her touch softening. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” he purred, and the sound surprised her.

Her face flushed again. “Oh…” She was still for a moment, as if she were unsure of what to do. He closed his fist around her fingers, slowly pumping her hand once along his thick shaft.

“Keep going.”

She bit her lip to stifle a moan, heat flooding between her legs again as she nodded. Her strokes were slow and measured, and the sound of his groan was a low rumble that sent heat skittering across her nerves as she drew in a shaky breath.

She pressed soft kisses against the column of his throat, drawing down over the shape of his collarbones, listening to the low rumbling in his chest. Following down, her mouth teased over his nipples, first her lips, then her tongue and teeth. The sound of his moan was hitched, and he bit his lip as his chest arched towards her.

She smiled as she nuzzled against his breastbone, increasing the tempo of her strokes as she glanced up at him through the dark fan of her lashes. He regarded her for a moment, then nudged her chin to draw her up into a deep, insistent kiss, letting her swallow the low sound of his moans.

As she leaned back only far enough to touch her forehead against his, she bit her lip to stifle herself as she slicked her finger over his slit again. He hissed loudly, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking, burying into the column of her throat to sink his teeth into her flesh. She couldn’t stifle the sound of her moan, and Gabe’s fingers let go of her hair to track his nails down her back.

“Gabe—” she whispered out his name with a low whine. He huffed as he sat back, palming over the plush mounds of her breasts as she resumed her strokes.

The tender heat of her touch was blissful, and nearly overwhelming, his peak approaching faster than he expected—faster than he wanted. His hips moved willingly into her grip, and she could tell by the stuttering thrusts, the loud huffs, and the way he grit his teeth that he was close. She watched him with a heavy-lidded gaze, and he bit his lip to stifle a rumbling moan.

She leaned close, nipping at his earlobe. “Come for me…”

The low, sultry sound of her voice drove him over the edge. He hid the undignified sound of his moan with a low, hissing growl. She covered him with her hand, catching his release as his hips jerked erratically into her grip. She drew the pleasure out of him as long as he could stand it, stopping only when he grabbed her wrist gruffly, growling against her ear.

Ceasing her strokes, she pressed in close to leave soft, gentle kisses along the column of his throat, waiting for his breathing to steady. Gabe tipped his head back, still seeing stars as his chest heaved.

After some minutes passed, he tilted his head down to look at her, drawing his fingers under her chin to tip her face up. She looked bewildered, but a sweet smile graced her lips when she found his gaze. Drawing her up, he kissed her, slow and deep and wanting.

As the blood that kept him hard slowly left his shaft, the gentle heat of her touch became more apparent. Her fingers slowly uncurled, drawing up along his belly. She lifted her other, looking intrigued as she examined his come coating her fingers. She flicked her tongue along the side of her palm, and seemed to contemplate his flavour. Her smile, however brief, was almost wicked as she continued drawing her tongue in long, broad strokes over her fingers, until she had licked herself clean. The sight of her doing something so lewd sent little jolts of pleasure through him.

He considered her for a moment, catching her chin as he stroked his thumb along her bottom lip, then pressed it into her mouth against her tongue. She closed her lips around his digit, sucking gently. He let out a hum of approval as he slowly withdrew, drawing her up to kiss her. When they parted, she leaned against him, her cheek pressed against the unrelenting cold of his shoulder. Comfortable silence hung between them for a long time as his fingers drew up and down along her spine.

As time passed, she began to shiver—she was getting cold, and he knew it was his fault. A bitter feeling of resentment roiled up through him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her a little closer to press soft kisses against the curve of her shoulder. She didn’t protest, but hummed quietly as her teeth chattered.

She drew in a tremulous breath, leaving a kiss against the column of his throat. “Can you stay?”

“No.” His response was instant, and almost biting—he regretted it. Her voice had been so soft when she’d said it, and the way she flinched at his response, it was as if he’d struck her.

“Okay.”

He raised his brows in surprise, though she couldn’t see it— _not going to argue?_ He pondered. She put her arms around his neck, burying her face into the crook—then, he heard her sniffle. The heat of her tears became apparent as her body trembled.

“I love you, Gabriel,” she whispered, her voice uneven.

“I know.” He hated the way those words sounded in his mouth. He wondered if it would have been kinder to say it back— _would it really be a lie?_

_No._

He pressed a kiss against her crown, feeling the warmth of her body slowly continuing to seep into him. An overwhelming sensation rose up in his guts like bile— _I’ll keep you safe._

His brow furrowed as he considered the thought. _From what?_ He wondered. After a moment, he decided it didn’t matter.

Another voice, not his own, drifted through his mind. _You’re weak…_

He swallowed, focusing his attention back on the petite frame of the woman wrapped up in his arms. Her breathing had begun to slow, and she slumped against him. He shifted her off his lap, and she let out a whine of protest. He ignored her, standing to tug his trousers back up, then hoisted her up into his arms to carry her down the hall to her bed.

Laying her in it, he tucked the covers around her. She was still shivering, and he leaned down to leave a kiss on her forehead.

It startled him.

She reached for him, eyes bleary with half-sleep and tears. “Please don’t go,” she whimpered. His chest ached at the sound of her begging, but he gently pushed her hand back down.

He kissed her forehead again. “Go to sleep,” he rasped. It was a command, and she knew it. She sniffled, turning onto her side, facing away from him. An instant later, her eyes squeezed shut as tears tracked down her cheeks and she curled into herself, arms wrapping around her torso.

“I’m sorry…” The sound of her voice was so soft, it was nothing more than a whisper. He wondered who she was saying it for—him? Herself? Maybe both.

“I miss you so much, Gabriel…” she sobbed out. “Please…”

Her words tugged insistently at something inside him, and he tried to swallow it down.

“That life is gone, Em.” His voice was soft, and the words startled him. She opened her eyes, but wouldn’t look at him.

“I know…” she muttered bitterly.

Silence hung between them.

An old memory stirred within him—sliding into the covers behind her, putting his arms around her, kissing her shoulders as he pulled her against his chest. _It’ll be alright, Em. I’ve got you._

Another voice—once more, not his own—rose up in him. _It’s time to leave. For good, this time_ , it insisted.

He swallowed at that thought. _It makes you weak_ , the voice went on.

“I know you can’t stay…” Her voice broke his tumultuous monologue. “But will you hold me? Just for a minute, Gabe. Please…”

Before that voice in him could begin to protest, he’d already moved to lay behind her, tugging her back against his chest. She felt oddly fragile in his hold, and bitter resentment rose up in his chest— _that life is gone_.

He tried to shake it off, leaning in to press slow, open-mouthed kisses against her exposed shoulder—she tasted almost sweet on his tongue. His teeth dug into her soft flesh, and he listened for the soft whine of protest from her.

None came.

He glanced down at the mark, and pressed a kiss behind her ear.

Time passed, and her body began to slacken as her breathing slowed. When he was certain that she was asleep, he slipped out of her bed to stand. She let out a soft whimper as she stirred, but didn’t wake.

He ventured back out into the living room, collecting his belongings one by one from where they’d been discarded. He shrugged his accoutrements back on, finding his mask last, laying on the floor like chaff. He stared at it for a long time, unmoving.

_That life is gone…_

He slipped the mask back in place, then glanced back down the hallway towards her open bedroom door. With a low, hissing growl, he evaporated into the shadows of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! If you liked my writing, please leave me a comment to let me know! It makes my day every time, and helps motivate me to continue writing! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭♡


	3. Twilight

The apartment seemed eerily silent as the Reaper found his way inside. A brief survey of the place revealed the reason—Emara wasn’t at home. Returning to the small living room, he glanced at the cat-shaped clock on the wall—12:57 am. He remembered that she had told him several months ago, when he first began coming to see her, that her work required her to keep strange hours.

Still, it felt odd, being in her home while she wasn’t there. Looking around the room once more, he debated briefly if he should leave— _if it’s this late already, and she’s still not back, maybe she’s not coming home tonight._ A shudder ran up his spine as a sinister voice slunk in at the edges of his consciousness—o _r maybe she’s out with someone—someone better, who can make her happy._ Tension filled his limbs as he hissed, pushing back at the voice, even as he answered— _she deserves someone better, anyway…_

Shaking his head, he pulled back his cowl and flicked the clasp of his mask, casting it aside. He was patient—he would wait.

Slung over the back of the sofa, the gunmetal grey of a sweater that was at least three sizes too big for Emara’s tiny frame. His stomach turned as he recognized the dark strip running down the sleeves—it had been his, once. His hand hovered over it for a moment, fingers twitching as if he were debating whether to pick it up or not. He hummed, and turned towards the photographs on her mantle, instead.

He had a strange relationship with the spread—seeing photos of he and Emara while he was still whole reminded him of a life that was long gone, even though hardly four years had passed. He wondered if she harboured the same bitterness in her chest—if she ever looked at the photos, and felt angry the way he did.

A particular image caught his eye—it was him, in her old apartment in a different arrondissement, a few years earlier. He looked past the camera—probably at her—and a pair of dog tags hung over the side of the frame. His lip curled, and he turned it face-down.

The soft click of a key in the deadbolt alerted him, and he turned, silently waiting to see if it was her—if she had company.

He heard the sounds of her entry, the clatter of the door being bolted, and the jingle of her keys as she set them on the counter. Silence fell, and she emerged from the small entryway, head bowed as she focused on the screen of her phone, passing down the hall into her room.

She hadn’t noticed him— _why would she? A black-cloaked wraith, skulking in the darkness?_ He moved across the floor, following her down the hall—silent, watching. She began to undress, piece by piece, until she was bare.

Collecting her phone from the bed, her hip cocked to the side as she seemed to read something on the screen. A moment later, she tossed the phone back into the sheets, then reached up to the nape of her neck, twirling and piling her hair up, pinning them in place as she slipped out of his sight.

Her bedroom light clicked off, but another light glowed further in. A moment later, the sound of running water told him where she’d gone. Crossing the threshold into her room, he stood near the doorway of the bathroom, still watching. Her movements were slow, and the way her form slumped under the water, he could tell she was exhausted. He debated again whether he should leave— _she’s tired. Leave her be._

His fingers flexed as she slowly lathered her body, and a memory came to him—warm water, and skin on skin. Kneeling, the low sound of her whine as she gripped at his hair, and the taste of her in his mouth. The quivering of her thighs as she came undone for him, the easy movement of lifting her off the floor into his arms. Pressing her back into cool tiles, hips meeting over and over, mouths making love as feverishly as their bodies.

He let out an unexpected snarl as he tried to banish the memory. The sound of the water stopped. Still half-covered in soap, she had turned her head to the side to listen, brow furrowed. After a moment, she turned over her shoulder, and locked eyes with him. She didn’t flinch.

Silence hung between them while they regarded each other. Finally, her posture relaxed, and she beckoned him towards her before she turned her back to him again. She let out a quiet sigh as she heard the loud _clunk_ of him slowly discarding his trappings, and turned the faucet back on. When another long silence hung in the air, she wondered if he was still watching.

The sudden, cool brush of his fingers on the small of her back answered her question.

Turning to face him, no words passed between them as she leaned up on her toes, letting him close the rest of the distance. The kiss they shared was soft and deep, and an ache bloomed out in his chest as he tugged her flush against him.

_I love you._ The words surprised him, resting on the tip of his tongue—he quickly swallowed them. Pressing her into the wall, he leaned into her shoulder to kiss her—to taste her. He bit into her flesh, and she sighed as she squirmed.

“It’s been a little while…” she murmured.

He leaned back to press a tender kiss against her forehead. “Has it?” He rasped.

“Three months, Gabe… I thought maybe you weren’t coming back, this time…” she mumbled, looking heartsick.

His brow furrowed as he leaned down to kiss her, over and over until she was quivering. “Work keeps me busy, sometimes…” he bit out.

She hummed as she regarded him, her fingers drawing down over his cheeks. “Yeah?” She purred, thumbing over the rough shape of his lips. “Me, too.”

He smirked a little as he drew her away from the wall, turning her around to find the pins in her hair. Dark tresses tumbled down her back, and she glanced over her shoulder at him with a curious look. His expression neutral, he nudged her forward to stand under the wide shower head. She closed her eyes against the water, feeling his cool fingers slide up into her hair to work the water through it.

Another memory came to him—countless times over their years together, they’d done this. One for the other; a soft, quiet sort of intimacy, when it was all they could manage. He had come for more than that, tonight, but— _it’s enough to be with her_ , he decided, leaving a lingering kiss on her shoulder.

Emara swallowed, struck by the same memory— _another life._ Her chest ached, and she held her breath as her scalp began to tingle, the sensation slowly spreading down into her neck and shoulders. As his fingers worked further down, it spread to her back and arms in waves.

He nudged her beneath the water again, working the shampoo out. His touch was careful, almost reverent, and the dam within her cracked as she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. When he was finished, he twisted her hair up again and piled it up at the base of her neck, pinning it back in place.

Her body trembled, her chest aching with love and anguish as she swallowed around a hard lump in her throat. The feeling of his fingers over the nape of her neck made her turn slowly to look up at him. His expression remained neutral, but even beneath that strange, red glow, she could see the longing in his gaze.

Glancing down, she drew her delicate fingers over the groove of his hip, following down to the coarse hair of his groin. Drifting through the trail below his navel, then back up over the plane of his belly, she could feel his muscles twitching beneath her touch, and it made her smile. Leaning into the cool plane of his chest, she bit him—not hard, but enough to draw a rumbling chuckle out.

He caught her chin, tilting her up to look at him. “Hi,” he purred, his lips curled up in a smirk.

She huffed out a laugh as she took his hand, pressing a kiss against his palm. He leaned down to press kisses against her cheek and temple, slowly moving down along her jaw and throat.

As he kissed her, the fingers of her free hand drifted back down his belly, running the back of her knuckles along the length of his cock. He grunted against her skin, his teeth digging in sharply against the flesh of her shoulder—she had missed that feeling, and didn’t bother trying to stifle her low sound of delight.

Curling her fingers around him, she drew a languid stroke from base to tip, and his hips rocked into her hand as he tugged her a little closer— _I missed you_ , he seemed to say. She coaxed him to kiss her again, the fingers of her free hand kneading into his chest, teasing over the bud of his nipple. His chest rumbled with a low moan, and she trembled as heat flooded out from her core— _oh, I missed you… I’m glad you came back to me…_

His lidded gaze lost focus as she leaned into the curve of his throat, her kisses warm against his skin as she continued her slow strokes. He was quickly lost in the bliss of her touch, letting his head tip back as he closed his eyes. At the scrape of her teeth over the plane of his belly near his navel, he remembered himself. Catching her jaw, a scowl overtook his features and he turned her up to meet his gaze. His brow was pinched, and though he looked bewildered, she could feel the tremors of his body under her touch.

Her expression was soft and longing as she met his gaze with a furrowed brow. “Please,” she whispered, a hand stroking soothingly over his hip. “Please, Gabe, I want to…”

The desire in her voice surprised him— _why?_ He demanded inwardly, but swallowed the question—it didn’t matter; he wanted it, too. His expression softened as he nodded his assent, and she held her breath as she smiled, taking his hand to kiss the tips of his fingers. She licked the seam of her lips and continued her trail of kisses down, gently nibbling at the space below his navel. The heat of her breath against his skin was pleasant, her fingertips scraping down his thighs.

Her fingers wrapped around him once more, and she rubbed her thumb along the underside of his head. Looking up at him, her expression wasn’t coy, nor cheeky, but only soft and wanting. She flustered beneath his heated gaze, and his cock twitched in her grip as she lovingly ghosted her lips and tongue from base to tip.

The sight of her on her knees before him was at once foreign, and familiar. He cupped her cheek, thumbing over the corner of her lips as she stroked him with one hand. Turning her face into his touch, she drew his thumb into her mouth. The gentle suction of her lips, and the slow, deliberate strokes of her hand made him groan. It rumbled low in his chest, and he felt her low whimper of delight as they met each other’s gaze again. Her smile became coy as she nipped at the end of his thumb, then turned her mouth towards his shaft.

She began at the head, tonguing at the tip to tease him. He hissed, grabbing at her hair, and she let out another whimper of delight as she closed her lips around him. The heat of her mouth made him shudder bodily, and he bit back the low moan that rose up in his throat. Twining his fingers into her hair, he tipped his face down to watch her.

She was slow with her movements, head bobbing in a steady rhythm as she moved further down his shaft, her hand working what she hadn’t taken in. His grip on her tightened unconsciously, and he guided himself further in as a string of praises escaped him in a rush.

Emara relaxed in his hold, letting him slide into the back of her mouth. He pushed a little further, and she choked. He trembled, his chest rumbling while his grip on her loosened, and he eased off. He felt the sound she made in her mouth—a moan?—and then the tight clutch of her throat as she pressed further. He couldn’t stop the startled groan that tumbled out of him, gripping fistfuls of her hair as she turned her gaze up on him.

“Em…” he grunted her name, and she moaned around him, her throat squeezing. He huffed out another groan as she slid back with a soft gagging noise, her hand resuming a swift pace. He whispered her name again as she nuzzled his groin, her tongue sliding along the base of his cock. His fingers wound up tightly in her hair as he yanked gruffly, tipping her face up to look at him.

“Is it too much?” She whispered, voice already a little hoarse. He hummed and shook his head, hips moving in time with her strokes.

“More?” She asked, her voice barely an octave higher. He nodded, biting at his lip as his fingers flexed against her scalp. Emara smiled as she drew her lips up along his length, then pushed him back into her mouth.

Her nose pressed into the taut plane of his belly, and he swore loudly as he grabbed at her hair. Holding her in place, he reveled in the tight clutch of her throat for only a moment before he began moving his hips insistently. Another string of curses and praise escaped him as he felt the pressure of his release building in his core.

Squeezing at his thighs in protest, he released his hold to let her push off of him with a choking gag. Her chest heaved as she resumed stroking him, hard and fast as her free hand slipped between his legs, cupping his sac in her palm. The way he squirmed and shuddered and grabbed at her hair, she knew he was close. Nesting the tip of his cock against the swollen cushion of her lips, she redoubled her efforts, her tongue lazily swirling around his head.

He barely resisted the urge to yank on her hair again, and instead only tightened his grip as he watched her, enraptured. Another string of praise and curses poured out of him, and her lips curled into a coy smile as she opened her mouth in invitation. He couldn’t hold back the guttural snarl that escaped him as his pleasure crested, the heat of his release striking her face, her lips, her tongue.

His chest heaved as he watched her wipe her face, her tongue playing at her lips to clean them off. With a low growl, he grabbed her by the throat and lifted her to her feet as he backed her into the corner of the stall. She gripped at his wrist, and though her brow furrowed in bewilderment, she didn’t resist him.

“My turn,” he rasped, pressing a hand up between her legs. She let out a surprised gasp as she glanced down, her pelvis moving eagerly against his touch. He smiled as he shifted his hand, grabbing the inside of her thigh to lift her leg up. She steadied herself, curling her fingers beneath her knee for support as his fingers squeezed around her airway, his other hand dipping back between her legs.

“Good girl,” he purred, pressing her into demanding, heated kisses as his fingers stroked over her crease. She let out a shout of surprise when he sank a finger into her, chased by a wailing moan as she moved her hips against his touch, pressing down against his hand to push him deeper.

As she ground her clit against his palm, her free arm wrapped around his shoulder, fingers gripping fitfully at the nape of his neck. She whispered his name like a prayer, her breath hitching on moans of delight as she pulled him into another frantic kiss.

She felt as much as she heard his growl, pushing a second finger into her tight heat. Pressing closer, he pinned her against the wall as his grip on her throat grew tighter. Her expression was dazed as she looked up at him, eyes bleary and wet as she gyrated against his hand, a string of curses escaping her as she begged him not to stop, to keep going, to make her come.

The milky fluid of her arousal gathered against his palm, slowly dripping down as he continued his thrusting. She squirmed as he curled his fingers forward to rub against the raised, fleshy tissue of her g-spot, letting out a loud, keening groan. Stars burst behind her eyes, and her head tipped back into the cool tiles.

Redoubling his efforts, his fingers thrust faster and harder, curling insistently into the tender flesh. Heat pooled out from her core and her eyes rolled back, her fingers scrabbling at his shoulder as her thighs trembled.

“Please… _please…_ ” she begged him, her hips moving along with his frantic rhythm. He kissed her to swallow the sound of her wail, her body going rigid as her release gushed out over his hand. She cried and moaned as he pressed her harder, her hips chasing the feeling of his fingers pulling her orgasm out of her.

Gasping for air around his iron grip, a stricken groan tumbled out as she tracked her fingers roughly over his shoulder in protest. He stilled as his grip on her throat slowly loosened, sliding his fingers out of her. Easing her leg back down so she was stood on two feet, he caught her as she stumbled into him, her entire body trembling wildly with the aftershocks.

He reached a hand to turn the faucet until the flow of water stopped.

She watched him with a dazed expression as he slowly, deliberately licked his fingers clean of her. Pressing her into the corner again, he kissed her, cradling her face in one hand.

As he leaned back to watch her, his fingers trailed down the column of her throat, and she bit her lip. Emara’s expression softened, and her brow furrowed as if she wanted to ask him something, but instead, she turned her gaze away, pressing her cheek against his chest to listen to the unsteady rhythm of his heart.

He put his arms around her, leaning down to press gentle kisses against the crown of her damp hair. After a time, he nudged her towards the exit. She nodded as she stepped around him, slipping out of the stall to pick a towel off the back of her door.

He followed suit, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, nearly hissing at his own reflection. He managed to swallow the sound, though he couldn’t hide the grimace—she noticed, but pretended she didn’t. Moving around her, he stood in the darkness of her room over the threshold of the doorway, watching as she finished her evening rituals.

She kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, and he noted the knot in her brow. Her shoulders were tense, and she looked hesitant as she finally turned to look at him, reaching for the light switch. He could still make out her silhouette, and reached for her, catching his fingers beneath her chin. A quiet murmur of surprise escaped her as he closed the distance between them, pressing a gentle kiss against her mouth before his hand slipped down her arm to twine up with her fingers.

“Come.”

Cool moonlight spilled in through the small bedroom window, and he nudged her to sit on the edge of her bed. _Can you stay?_ She swallowed the question, already knowing the answer. Thick tresses tumbled down her back as he pulled the pins out of her hair, and his fingers slid up along her scalp.

He took his time drawing a comb through her hair, stopping every so often to leave kisses along her shoulders, behind her ears, and on the nape of her neck. Heat pooled low in her belly, but she kept quiet as his fingers began to work at the top of her scalp—the familiar tug of a french braid. A painful ache spread out from her chest as memories of their old life flooded over her—it felt so familiar, but so distant. She pressed her fingers against her lips, drawing in slow, deep breaths to try and calm herself, fighting back at the tears that sprang into her eyes.

She lost.

He heard the defeated sigh that escaped her, and watched her body slump. He pressed a lingering kiss behind her ear— _I’m sorry_. No words passed between them, but she leaned into him, letting the silence carry the ache away from her. When he finally finished the braid, he drew his fingers along her shoulder—she felt the pressure of his touch, but not the cold, and his lips were almost warm as he leaned in to press kisses to her skin.

“You’re cold,” he muttered. She hadn’t noticed.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. He tucked in behind her, wrapping his arms around her petite frame. Her breath hitched, and more tears sprang to her eyes, falling freely down her cheeks. He felt the heat of them striking the skin of his arms, but remained silent.

The soft brush of a kiss against her shoulder slowly trailed up the curve of her throat, behind her ear made tension prickle at her skin. He put a hand around her throat as he drew her back against his chest.

“I’ve got you.”

He said it so softly, it was barely more than the breath he used to say it, but a pleasant warmth trickled out from her core. She relaxed in his arms, and he pressed more slow, open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder and neck. Her head tipped back as she closed her eyes, murmuring his name absently as he bit into the flesh of her shoulder. It was so, so much like their old life, these quiet moments— _that life is gone, and you can’t get it back._ Emara turned her face into the curve of his throat, pressing a lingering kiss against his pulse— _I don’t care. I just want now. This moment. It’s enough._

The warmth of her breath against his skin was bittersweet—he was plagued by his own memories of that old life each time he came to her, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay away. He closed his eyes as he pressed his face into her shoulder, his hold on her tightening.

“Hey,” she called to him, and he opened his eyes to glance at her. She tapped her bottom lip, and he chuckled, leaning in to kiss her. Her fingers slid up into his thick curls, and after a moment, she shifted out of his grip.

“Here,” she said, shuffling further into the space of her bed. He watched as she adjusted a few pillows at the headboard, then patted the space where she wanted him to sit. With a smirk, he did as she asked, settling down into the plush pillows. She straddled his thighs once he was settled, and leaned in to kiss him again.

Her lips were soft, and his chest throbbed at how tenderly she cupped his cheeks. He kissed back, arms around her waist as he drew her closer. She still felt warm against him, but he could tell by how she shivered that she was cold—she never complained.

She paused, leaning back to regard him. Low light spilled into the room from her lamp, and a rising sense of panic rose within him— _I don’t want her to see me._ He reached for the switch, and she grabbed his arm.

“No,” she insisted, though her tone was gentle. He paused, looking at her quizzically. “I want to look at you, Gabriel. Please.”

_Why?_ He wondered. She drew her thumb along the ugly scar on his cheek, spanning over his eye, then the newer burn scars on his jaw, leading down his neck.

Her expression never changed—she looked at him with longing, and gentle affection, and tenderness. _I love you._ The words rose up in his throat again, settling on his tongue as his chest grew tight. He swallowed them down, grimacing with the effort it took.

She leaned down to kiss the angry scar near his eye, then the older ones on his cheek and lips. “I love you, Gabriel,” she whispered, as if she knew what he was thinking.

_I don’t deserve it. After everything…_

She’d said it so many times before—now, and in their old life—and he always felt the familiar shudder in his chest when she did. His brow furrowed as she leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes, cradling his head in her hands. She always said those words like it didn’t matter if he said it back—like her loving him was enough.

It wasn’t.

“I love you.”

The words were rasped out suddenly, quiet and unassuming. They had settled in his mouth again, heavy on his tongue, and to say it felt natural—like he’d said it thousands of times before. Still, some part of him balled up with anxiety— _you don’t deserve her love, and you don’t deserve to love her._

Her heart skipped, and she pretended not to hear, leaning in to press soft kisses against his lips. He met her, his own kisses fevered and hungry, a sense of self-satisfaction arising in him as he heard her murmur of surprise.

“I love you, Emara.” He said it again, louder this time, peppered between kisses. Her chest tightened, and she couldn’t help the quiet sob that escaped her as she wound her arms around his neck. No words passed between them as she buried her face into his shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, and his chest squeezed so hard it felt like his heart might burst.

Emara’s kisses drew along the column of his throat, the curve of his jaw, and the shape of his cheeks, lips, and brow. A sense of ease slowly washed over him, and he felt warm as her lips teased over his.

“I love you, Gabriel. I love you,” she whispered, cradling his face in her hands.

Pleasant warmth bloomed out from his core, and he squeezed her hard as he curled an arm around her waist. Shifting down into the bed, he settled on his back, and she sprawled out across him, listening to the low, slow thrum of his heart. He glanced down as he stroked over the plait of her hair, watching her delicate fingers trace slow patterns along his grey skin—foreign, and familiar.

He shifted them again, laying on his side as he reached for the switch on her lamp. She didn’t protest as he pulled her against him, leaning down to press a kiss against her crown.

_Can you stay?_ Again, she wanted to ask, but bit her tongue, curling into herself a little more. The movement wasn’t lost on him, and he tipped her face up to kiss her, pulling her a little closer.

“I’m here,” he mumbled against her lips. “I’ve got you, Em.” The low, grating sound of his voice made her shiver, and she decided that even if he wasn’t there when she woke up, he was there now—and that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! If you liked my writing, please leave me a comment to let me know! It makes my day every time, and helps motivate me to continue writing! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭♡


	4. Syrup

Emara’s eyes fluttered open slowly, squinting against the bright sunlight pouring into her room. She let out a groan as she turned into the sheets. Her eyes peeked open again, glancing at the cold, grey arm slung out beneath her, and she drew in a sharp breath.

“Gabriel?”

He let out a low, rumbling noise in his throat as he opened his eyes, watching as she rolled to face him. Cupping his face in her hands, her smile was soft and genuine, even though tears sprang to her eyes.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey,” he replied with a smile, leaning forward to kiss her. She let out a quiet whimper, and tears readily fell down her cheeks. Winding her arms around his neck, she pulled herself flush against him, and he responded in kind, wrapping his powerful arms around her. She giggled as his kisses began to trail across her cheek and along her jaw, then down her neck.

“Good morning,” she murmured, eyes fluttering shut again as she tipped her head back. His teeth scraped along the curve of her throat, and he only growled softly in response. His kisses softened, until they disappeared, and he stayed tucked in to the curve of her chest. She nuzzled into the top of his hair, sliding her fingers through his curls. She was happy to stay like that, slowly beginning to doze off again.

A soft, rhythmic beeping drew her out of her sleepy state, and her brow furrowed as she turned her head, listening for the direction it was coming from. She heard as much as felt his growl, and tilted her head down to look at him.

“They’re calling for you, aren’t they?”

He looked at her quizzically, his brow furrowing. “Who?”

“Talon.”

“How do you—”

“I don’t,” she murmured. “I’ve seen some things, so I suppose I just assumed…”

Her tone wasn’t accusatory, or even disappointed—she only sounded sad. After a pause, he settled in against her chest again, his grip tightening.

“It can wait,” he assured her, pressing his forehead against her chest. “I want to stay,” he grumbled.

“Okay.” Emara stroked her fingers through his hair, listening as the beeping continued on for several more seconds, until it finally ceased. She leaned into him, leaving soft kisses against his crown.

His chest rumbled with a purr as his fingers drew up her spine, teasing along the curve of her shoulder. “Breakfast?”

She snorted, giving him a squeeze. “You offering?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, leaving some more kisses along her throat.

She giggled as she kissed his forehead. “What are you going to make me?”

He leaned up to kiss along her jaw. “Pancakes.”

She paused, feeling a sudden swell in her chest as she nuzzled into his crown. “Like you used to?” She whispered. There was a long pause, and she felt his slow breaths against her skin.

“Yeah.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as the dam within her cracked. Nodding with a soft whimper, she kissed his forehead again. “Okay…” she sniffled.

“Hey,” he called, tipping his head up to look at her. She didn’t bother trying to hide, but let him cradle her face, and lean in to kiss her. Over and over, in soft, gentle movements that made her ache for him, he kissed her as his thumbs moved over her cheeks, wiping away a few of her tears as he did.

“Hey, I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, Em. It’s okay.”

She choked on her sob as she wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. He hushed her with a soft noise, kissing her cheeks, eyes, and the bridge of her nose. He kissed her until she quieted, her breaths softening as she lay there, tucked in against the unrelenting cold of his chest. She was shivering, but didn’t complain as she nuzzled into the dip of his collarbones.

He kissed her eyelids, then her brow and temple. “You want some pancakes, Em?” He asked again. He felt the warmth of her breath against his skin as she laughed, nodding.

“Yeah, I do,” she mumbled in response. He moved to slide out of the bed, and she stayed laying on her side, watching him. The bright sunlight of the morning let her see him much more vividly than she’d been able to before, and all of the scars that littered his arms and torso—she hadn’t realised how many new ones he’d picked up. She watched his muscles flex and move as he leaned down to pick up his discarded clothes, and she noticed his grimace as he stared at his trousers.

“Something the matter?” She asked.

He looked over his shoulder at her and shrugged, tossing the trousers on the bed. “Not the most comfortable thing to wear,” he muttered. “It’ll do, though.”

She laughed as she slipped out of bed. “Hold on,” she said, heading towards her closet. “I have something that might help with that.”

He watched her with a cocked brow as she used a step stool to hoist herself up into the upper part of her closet. Her torso half-swallowed by the darkness, he didn’t bother to avert his eyes, watching the flex of her calves and thighs, and the way the plump curve of her ass jiggled with her movements.

She came back down with a storage box, and set it on the bed in front of him. “Here,” she said, a self-satisfied smile. “I kept these. There should be lots to choose from.”

He looked perplexed as he reached for the box. _Kept what?_ He wondered as he lifted the lid. His heart dropped into his stomach as he looked at the box of neatly folded clothes—old trousers, shirts, sweats, even some socks and underwear that had all belonged to him. He swallowed.

“Em…” The ache in his voice was palpable as he looked over the contents of the box, then at her. The way his brow furrowed made her shuffle in place.

She suddenly looked embarrassed, wringing her hands. “I kept them, just in case…” She paused, looking sidelong as her cheeks flushed. “I don’t know…” _I couldn’t let go… I didn’t want to._

He stepped forward and drew her in against his chest, pressing kisses against her forehead.

“Oh…” she sighed, leaning into his kisses. What could either of them say? He leaned down to kiss her, deep but tender as he cradled the nape of her neck. Warmth trickled through her body, easily settling in the base of her stomach as she gripped at his shoulders.

“Thank you.”

She made a soft sound of agreement in her throat as she nodded. Patting his chest, she took a step back as she nudged his chin with her fingers. His smile was soft, but gentle as he took her fingers, pressing a quick kiss against them. He watched her briefly as she crossed towards her dresser, then turned back to the box of his clothes.

After he’d chosen a pair of clean underthings, and some old, black sweats to wear, he turned back to look at her. Wearing much the same as she usually was—a pair of underpants, and a tank top—she was sat on the bed again, pulling a long pair of socks up her thighs.

He cocked a brow. “Couldn’t you just wear pants?”

She turned over her shoulder with a little smirk. “It’s my day off—don’t tell me how to live my life.”

He huffed a soft laugh, and shook his head as he left the room. She followed after him some minutes later, sitting on a chair in the small dining room.

It felt strange to see him stood there at her stove, cooking pancakes in a pair of old sweats. It was painfully alike the last time he’d done the same thing. _That’s from a different life,_ she reminded herself. She frowned, picking a piece of lint off her thigh, flicking it away.

“You want syrup?” He asked, turning over his shoulder.

She looked up at his voice. “The special kind?” She asked, a little hopeful. She saw the corner of his mouth twitch, and he nodded. She smiled in kind. “Yes, please.”

He turned back to the stove, pulling out a sauce pan from the cupboard. Emara stood from her seat, crossing the space between them. She knew he’d be cold—it practically rolled off him in waves—but she wanted to touch him, to feel his skin, to remind herself that he was really there. He didn’t make a sound as she wrapped her arms around his chest from behind, her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

“You’re going to get cold,” he scolded her. She whispered a muffled _I don’t care_ against his back, her fingers flexing against his chest. His laugh rumbled through his core, and he covered her hands with one of his own.

“You want to make the syrup?” He asked, feeling the soft warmth of her kisses between his shoulders. Heat shuddered through his body, settling low in his belly. He paused, waiting for her response.

“‘Kay,” she said finally, stepping back and releasing her hold on him. As she stood next to him whisking the butter and syrup with cinnamon, he reached up to squeeze gently at the nape of her neck.

“You alright?” He rasped.

She nodded, even as her expression twisted, fighting back tears. “Yeah,” she murmured, wiping at her eyes. He waited, and after a moment, she fell silent again, the only sound coming from her the occasional sniffle as she whisked at the syrup.

He didn’t speak, and silence hung in the air between them. _I’m sorry._ He didn’t know exactly what for, but he knew she was crying because of him. _Again._

 _It’s always your fault._ The phantom voice drifted in on the edges of his consciousness again, but he quickly banished it, focusing on the batter and the way the hot cakes looked in the pan. “Still have a knack for it, even after all these years,” he mused.

Some minutes later, he was layering the pancakes onto a plate for her while she gathered cutlery and napkins. He set the plate in front of her as he took a seat across the table with a cup of coffee.

She glanced at the steaming mug. “Can you still drink that?” She asked.

He shrugged, looking at the black liquid. “Can’t really taste it, but it’s hot.”

Emara nodded, poking gingerly at the pancakes on her plate, smothered with the syrup she’d made from his recipe. She swallowed, then glanced over at him again. He watched her intently, drawing the mug to his lips and taking a long draw of the steaming drink.

She fingered the edges of the plate for a minute, and he cocked a brow. “Something wrong?”

She shook her head as she stood, shuffling towards him to sit in his lap without invitation. He caught her hip as she settled on him, and barely stifled a chuckle as she reached across to pull her plate of hot cakes towards her.

She dug in without hesitation then, making a soft noise of content in her throat as she whimpered, a few tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Shit,” she muttered. “This is really good.”

His chest rumbled with a laugh, and he gave her a gentle squeeze, leaning forward to leave a soft, lingering kiss on her throat. She grew tense at that, her body trembling—his mouth was warm from the coffee, and it startled her. It felt different, but it felt good, sending shocks of pleasure skittering across her nerves.

The tremble of her body wasn’t lost on him, and he hummed as he drew his kisses along her shoulder, sliding the strap of her top down her arm as he drew closer to the cap. She swallowed as she tried to ignore his teasing, and the pleasant warmth of his mouth on her skin. His fingers flexed against her belly, and he gave her a soft bite. She barely stifled a moan as she cleared her throat.

“Drink your coffee, Gabriel,” she said with a soft huff. He chuckled as he gave her a final, lingering kiss behind her ear before leaning back again, taking another sip of his coffee.

After a moment, she eagerly tucked into her pancakes again, despite the tears that occasionally slipped out.

When she had finished, they stayed sat at the table together for some time. Gabe’s hand against her stomach, however cold, was comforting. She leaned back against him, nuzzling his throat. He didn’t speak as he stood, hoisting her up into his arms and moving out into the living room.

Her couch was too small for him to lay across comfortably, but he did it anyway, stretching himself along its length. Emara crawled on top of him after he’d gotten settled, resting her cheek against his chest.

From where she lay, she looked up at him with the same soft, fond expression that she always wore. Her fingers drifted along the scruff on his chin, and she sighed dreamily.

After several long minutes of silence, he glanced down at her. “What do you see when you look at me?” He asked.

Emara tilted her head. “What do you mean?” She asked, resting her chin on her hands, folded over his chest.

“I feel like you see something very different than I do when I look in the mirror…” he mumbled, thumbing over her lips.

“You look in mirrors?” She teased him with a coy smile.

He smiled in kind, though it was brief. “I try not to.”

She laughed, nuzzling into his chest. “Why are you asking? Is there something wrong with how I look at you?”

A beat.

“No.” There was another pause as he slid his fingers through her hair. “You just always look at me like you’re not afraid…” _Like you should be._

She sat up, hands resting against his belly as she looked at his face. “That’s because I’ve never been afraid of you, Gabriel. Ever. And I’m not about to start.”

The honest, gentle tone of her voice made his chest throb. She reached up to draw her thumb over the contour of his cheekbone, her smile soft, loving, and gentle.

_How can you look at me and see anything but a monster? Look what I’ve become._

As if she could sense his turmoil, she played her fingers through a wisping tendril of smoke that lifted off his skin, then turned her gaze back to him. “I’m not sure what you think I should see, Gabriel. Maybe you think I should see some sort of monster?”

His nod was subtle, and he hadn’t realised he’d done it until her face fell.

“Is that what you think?”

He swallowed, nodding again.

She sighed, brushing her fingers over bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips, then down the side of his throat, over his shoulder, and the shape of his clavicle, coming to rest delicately against his chest.

“Why?” If he’d had any answer, he didn’t get to give it before she went on. “When I look at you, Gabriel, I still see _you_. Your condition may have worsened, but you’re still you, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Something… _happened_ at Zurich. I don’t know…” He wouldn’t look at her. She pressed a hand against his chest, waiting to feel the gentle thrum of his heartbeat.

“There,” she said.

“What?”

“Your heart. It’s still there, beating in your chest.”

“It’s not always that simple, Emara,” he muttered bitterly. “I still have a heartbeat, but—”

She pressed a finger against his lips to stop him. “Do you _want_ me to be afraid of you? Is that what you’re arguing for?”

A long pause hung between them as he really considered her. _You should be afraid_ , he insisted. But that wasn’t what she’d asked him. Did he _want_ her to be?

“No…” he finally admitted. He still wanted her—of course he did. And he couldn’t have her if she was afraid of him. Her smile was sweet, and she leaned down to put a kiss against the inner corner of his eye, and along the bridge of his nose, over the scars on his cheek, his forehead, and finally his mouth.

“I’ll tell you what I see when I look at you, Gabriel,” she whispered, leaning back just enough to look at him, her expression still soft and fond. “I see you—the man I fell in love with half a lifetime ago, the man who shared his secrets, and let me share mine, too.” She leaned her forehead against his, her hands slowly drawing along the cool planes of his bare chest. “I see you—the man I loved for years when I thought he was gone, the man I wanted spend the rest of my life with—and still do, if he’ll have me.”

He swallowed, reaching to cradle her face in his hand. _That man is dead._

She leaned into his palm to leave a kiss there, then turned her gaze on him again. “That’s what I see…” Her expression twisted a little, the edges lined with sorrow, like she knew what he was thinking. “I know it’s not the same as it was. I know we can’t go back to who we were, or what we had. We’re not the same people anymore, but… that’s alright. You’re here now, and so am I. That has to be enough. It’s enough, right?”

He looked at her, drawing his thumb over her lips. “Is it enough for you?” He asked. She nodded. “Then it’s enough.”

She swallowed as she looked at him, closing her fingers over his. “What about you? Is it enough for you?”

He nodded. She smiled and put her arms around his neck as she kissed him, slow and sweet. After a minute, she settled onto his chest, nuzzling the cool skin. “We can make something new, together. It won’t be perfect, but… I’d like to try.”

His hand came up to rest on the nape of her neck, teasing through her tresses as he glanced down. “So would I.”

He balked at that. Would he? The angry spectre hung at the edges of his consciousness.

 _You’re playing yourself if you think she’ll ever really love you. If she knew all the things you’d done, what you’d become_ —

He grimaced. _I know her better than that. If she didn’t mean it, she wouldn’t be here. Neither would I._

Silence.

_Good._

He nuzzled into her crown, leaving a soft kiss on her hair. “I love you.” The words were hardly more than the sound of his breath, and she hummed as she leaned up to kiss him. She felt warm, her lips plush and soft against his own. He put his arms around her tightly, like if he let go, she might run away, but it just made her giggle.

“Don’t worry,” she cooed between teasing kisses. “I’m not going anywhere, as long as you aren’t.”

He pulled her in and followed his kisses over her cheeks and chin, making her laugh from the brush of his scruff against her skin. “Good,” he insisted. Emara sighed as she reached for the gunmetal grey sweater, still draped over the back of the sofa, and pulled it on.

“Are you cold?”

“A little,” she admitted, tapping her fingers along the dark hair of his belly. He still hated the jacket a little bit, if only because it reminded him of something he could never have—that he could never get back. He zipped it shut with a little smirk.

“It looks good on you.”

“It looked better on you,” she replied with a grin.

“That’s because it fit me,” he teased, pulling her back down for a kiss. When they finally came up for air, Emara giggled breathlessly, sprawling herself back out over his body.

Silence hung between them for an age while she dozed on his chest, fingers absently playing with the wisping tendrils that wafted off of his body. He rubbed at the nape of her neck, leaning back into the cushions—no, it wasn’t perfect, but it felt right.

“Thank you,” she murmured suddenly, turning her face into him, leaving a warm kiss on the center of his breastbone.

“What for?”

“For everything,” she whispered. “For breakfast. For staying.” A pause. “For coming back…”

His finger brushed over the line of her cheekbone, swiping at the tears that slipped out. He coaxed her up into a gentle kiss, carrying on until she had settled again. He touched his forehead against hers.

“I’ve got you, Em. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! If you liked my writing, please leave me a comment to let me know! It makes my day every time, and helps motivate me to continue writing! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭♡


	5. Stolen

Emara’s eyes snapped open in the darkness of her room. There was silence for a moment, and then she heard the protesting groans of her floorboards.

Someone was in her apartment. And it wasn’t Gabriel.

She had memorized the specific sounds that his heavy footfalls made, and the house was old, but not old enough to creak without issue. No, there was someone there.

A tickle of fear wound its way around her limbs, making them feel heavy. Cautiously, she turned her head towards her bedroom door. It was still closed. Whoever they were, they weren’t this far yet.

She slipped out of bed and hastily made up her covers, fluffing her pillows to make it look less slept in, then carefully scuttled towards her door, stood next to the hinges.

The creaking of the floorboards drifted closer, and she knew that whoever they were, they were taking measured steps, trying to avoid making noise. That only succeeded in making her more nervous.

Questions about who the hell would bother breaking into her apartment—and why—skittered over her thoughts, but she tried to quiet them as she focused on listening.

She heard a muffled voice from beyond her door—they were right outside. Another voice. Her throat closed up—there was more than one? She looked around frantically for something she could arm herself with, but the door’s handle turned, and with a soft click, it popped open.

She held her breath as the hinges squealed, and she heard a soft curse. From beyond the door, a dark-clad figure appeared.

“She’s here,” a man’s voice rasped, distorted by the reverb from his helmet. “The bed’s warm.”

Emara’s anxiety spiked higher—who the hell were these people? More than simple burglars, if they were heavily armed and wearing helmets with infrared.

“Check the bathroom,” he added, and Emara tensed behind the door. A dark figure, punctuated by glowing red eye slots set into a helmet whisked past her, not noticing her petite form tucked up between the wall and the door. She risked a peek around the edge as she heard the one in the bathroom pulling open the supply closet.

The first had crouched next to the bed, and was lifting the bed skirt to look beneath it. Taking her moment of opportunity, she slipped out from behind the door, and dashed out of her room.

Straight into the broad chest of someone else, waiting in the hallway. She sucked in a sharp breath as she staggered backward.

They seemed just as surprised to see her as she was to see them. She whirled around to flee back into her room, but great arms encircled her, trapping her against them. Fear and rage bubbled up in her throat, and she let forth a desperate scream. Her assailant squeezed, and lifted her feet off the floor.

She kicked up and used her leverage to shove her feet into the adjacent wall, launching them backwards. They didn’t go far before they made purchase—her hallways were narrow—and the black-clad figure let out a shout of surprise as his grip on her loosened.

By now, the two in her room were alerted and she saw the one at her bed barreling towards them. She squirmed out of her attacker’s grip while he was still stunned. Rounding on him, she put her foot into his chest, and he tumbled back, crashing into the first. She dashed down the hallway, only to be met by a fourth figure who stepped into her path just as she crested the entrance.

A gruff hand closed around her throat and slammed her back into the wall, and she choked as she was lifted off the ground. She couldn’t scream, and her legs dangled uselessly as she tried to squirm.

“Who are you,” she choked out, as if that knowledge might save her. The brute’s grip didn’t slacken, and she heard a cruel laugh from behind the mask. Her eyes scanned his torso, hoping she might see some kind of insignia or emblem to indicate who they were—because four armed men in combat gear with infrared helmets were part of something larger.

On his chest, she saw it— _Talon_. Her mind scrambled to process that. Wasn’t Gabriel working for them? Why were they here? And what did they want from her? Had something happened to him? He hadn’t been around for a while… She grabbed at her assailant’s wrist, struggling for air as she tried to push him away or squirm free.

She let out a shout of shock and anguish as he suddenly let go, dropping her to the floor. She choked, then drew in several ragged gulps of air, rubbing her neck sorely. She could see her apartment door from where she sat, and her flight instinct kicked in.

She darted. A hand shot out and grabbed her hair, and she let out a cry as she was slammed back into the wall. She sobbed, tears falling readily as her fear spiked higher

“Easy,” one of the other men scolded. “Orders were to take her alive, Danforth.”

_Danforth_ —so that was the name of the man who choked her. She turned a snarling glare up on him, dazed as she was. He _laughed_.

“Orders are to take her alive, _with necessary force_. If she wants to play coy, I’m not going to hesitate to rough her up.”

Something about the smugness of his voice filled her with rage. In her peripheral, a cold mug of tea sat on the end table, next to a grim statuette of a raven. She grabbed the mug and swung, smashing the porcelain across the side of his mask. He shouted in shock, and while he was distracted, she grabbed the raven. She swung and made contact with him twice before he knocked the statue away. He struck her so hard that her ears rung. When she looked up, she could see that her strikes had cracked the glass in his helmet, and he was forced to remove it.

“Oh, you miserable little _bitch_ ,” he snarled, grabbing her by the throat again.

“ _Foutu cochon_ ,” she hissed, twisting in his grip. He laughed again. He was _enjoying_ this, she realised.

With a scream, she lashed out again, her fist making direct contact with his face. He shouted and stumbled back, grabbing at his nose. She thought she might have heard a crack, but didn’t wait to see what happened next—she bolted for her door again.

As she grabbed the handle, strong arms wrapped around her from behind and yanked her back. She let out a scream as she tried to twist from their grip.

Danforth appeared in front of her with a smug, hateful expression, and pushed something cold up against the junction of her throat and shoulder. She felt the stinging sensation a moment later, and kicked out at him.

“Let me go!” Overcome with rage and fear, fresh tears brimmed in her eyes. Danforth laughed again.

“Go to sleep. We’ve got plans for you,” he sneered. She clawed at him, but the grip of the man restraining her tightened. Danforth side-stepped her grasping hand, and her fingers fell on his shoulder. She ripped his epaulette away from him, and he either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

He grabbed her jaw gruffly. “ _Sleep_ , you rotten little bitch. I’ll get you back for this later,” he hissed, pointing to his bloody nose. She was almost certain that she’d broken it.

She spit at him, and he slapped her, grabbing her away from the man who had been restraining her. She doubled over as he drove his knee into her diaphragm, winding her. Crumpling to the floor, she wheezed, trying to find her breath. A kick to her stomach laid her out, and she retched.

One of the other men stepped in to stop him from continuing, and she was vaguely aware of Danforth swearing about her insolence. She decided that she’d get this Danforth back in spades—if she survived whatever was next.

Her vision began to blink, and she didn’t hear the rest of their conversation, the darkness swallowing her up.

* * *

The first thing Emara noticed before she opened her eyes was the splitting headache that roared through her skull. The second thing she noticed was the low buzzing in her ears. Whether that was from her own head, or maybe lights overhead, she wasn’t sure.

She risked a peek, cracking an eye open. An intense, white light bombarded her vision, and she groaned. She squeezed her eyes shut, her head throbbing along with her pulse as her senses came back to her. Her mouth tasted faintly of copper, and her tongue felt heavy.

Though her mind was foggy, she tried to parse through her memories and remember what had happened. Glimpses of darkness, cruel laughter, and a hard hand at her throat—she shook her head, banishing the memories. She took a deep breath, but her diaphragm protested, and she coughed, which only made it worse. Opening her eyes, finally, she took careful stock of her surroundings.

She was in a space where she couldn’t see the edges, blinded by bright light overhead. Her hands and arms were bound to a metal chair, and she could feel her legs and ankles done up the same. Other straps bound her torso to the chair back, further limiting her range of motion.

Before her, a metal table, and just beyond it, another chair. She tried to turn her head and take stock of the area behind her, but found the ache in her neck too severe. She cursed softly, and tucked her chin against her chest, trying to abate the throbbing of her nerves.

From some distance behind her, she heard the whoosh of a door sliding open, and then snapping shut.

Two well-dressed men entered her field of vision, one on either side. Both wore tailored waistcoats, and had their crisp sleeves rolled up to their elbows. The one in a tan brocade waistcoat wore leather gloves on his hands. The other wore a charcoal grey waistcoat with pinstriping, and carried a baton.

She watched from her periphery, glancing between the two of them—the man in the charcoal waistcoat worked on something with his back to her. The tan waistcoat turned his attention on her with a wan smile, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the table.

He glanced upward. “Begin recording. Designation E6H92BX, Alphonse Bonheur.”

“Designation 3ZDIJLH, Dante Gagliardi,” the charcoal waistcoat added, then returned to his work.

“Good morning, _mademoiselle_. Have you been enjoying your rest?”

Emara lifted her face to stare at him, not dignifying the question with a response. His thin smile grew tight as he uncrossed his arms.

“I am Alphonse, and this is my partner, Dante. We have some questions for you,” he put in. “It will be easier on both of us if you would cooperate.”

She glanced down at herself. “You must think I’m _very_ dangerous if you have me tied up like this,” she rasped, her throat dry and scratchy. Talking hurt. Everything hurt, but especially talking, now that she was doing it.

Alphonse’s smile became just a little simpering, but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, not at all. This is simply standard procedure, but we are aware that you are of no danger to us. Now, may we begin? Why don’t you start by telling me your name.”

There was a pause as Emara considered her course of action—whether to play evasive and coy with these Talon thugs—but she thought better of it. She had no resources to lean on, and she wasn’t even certain if Gabriel would be able to find the sole clue she’d left for him at her apartment. It was better to play it safe, for now.

“Emara Benhayoun.”

His brow twitched, as if he were surprised at her compliance. “And what do you do for a living, Miss Benhayoun?”

“I’m a _pâtissière_.”

“I see,” he hummed with a nod. “And have you always been a _pâtissière_?”

“No. I used to be an engineer for Overwatch.” By now, the one called Gagliardi had finished doing whatever he’d kept hidden from her, and picked up the baton from the table before circling around to the back of her.

“That seems an interesting leap in career bath,” Bonheur continued. “What triggered the change?”

“I got tired of creating things that could only be used to hurt people or destroy.” She turned over her shoulder, searching for the Italian, despite the pain in her neck.

“Don’t mind him,” Bonheur tried to soothe her. “He’s just listening.”

“Does he need a baton in his hand to listen?” She snapped.

“A standard precaution,” he assured her, his mirthful smile just a little too toothy. “Let us digress; tell me about your role in Overwatch.”

She let out a long sigh. “I was a mechanical engineer.” All of the information they had asked for so far had been on the public record. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I see,” Bonheur drawled. “What did that role entail? What sort of work did you do?”

“I was head of the Experimental Tech division, second to Chief Engineer Lindholm.”

“What was your relationship with Commander Reyes?” Gagliardi’s silky voice came from behind her. She flinched. There was that other shoe.

She looked visibly uncomfortable as she looked to the side, keeping both men in her periphery. “...What do you mean?”

“Don’t play games,” Dante snapped. “You know exactly what I meant.”

Emara could see Bonheur smiling thinly out of the corner of her eye, but noticed that he didn’t speak, or offer clarity. Of course she knew what they meant—but she just wasn’t going to throw around information about Gabriel so easily.

Gagliardi let out an impatient growl. “Were you, or were you not involved in an intimate relationship with the late Commander?”

Emara flinched again, an aching throb in her chest. “We were.”

Bonheur sniffed as he leaned back. “You must have been very upset about the events that unfolded in Zurich.”

She closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing as she felt her pulse spiking, her skin prickling with anxiety. Memories of that wretched day bubbled up to the surface of her mind, and she tried desperately to push them back. She took a measured breath. “…Yes.”

After a brief pause, she heard shuffling. “How did you come to be part of Overwatch?” Bonheur’s voice asked.

She opened her eyes, staring at a point on the floor. “I was recruited right out of University,” she replied with a shrug. She regretted the gesture, her shoulders flaring with pain.

“Impressive. You must have done something to catch their eye, then?”

“I modified their prototype pulse rifle and created a version that couldn’t be reverse engineered. That was enough to catch their attention, and for them to try to buy the patent for the design,” she said.

Bonheur hummed. “And your other contributions? What else did you do for them?”

“I updated and improved some of their armour schematics, designed new metal adhesion and grafting techniques, designed new weapon schematics, and did individual _ad hoc_ weapons modification.”

“So you were really a military engineer.”

“In a sense, I suppose. I was just good at seeing things from different angles, and not afraid to take risks, because I wasn’t afraid to fail—” _When my parents weren’t breathing down my neck_. “I didn’t enjoy my work.”

“Then why do it?” Bonheur seemed genuinely curious, but she knew she shouldn’t take him at face value.

“My parents were very particular about what career path I was expected to take.”

Bonheur’s gaze became sharp, and he narrowed his eyes. “They must have been very proud of your accomplishments.”

Emara ground her teeth and set her jaw. “I suppose. I barely saw either of them after I graduated. They always sounded expectant, but they might have been proud.” She paused. That was too personal, and she reminded herself that this wasn’t a therapy session—it was an interrogation.

“What do you know of the Reaper?” Gagliardi’s voice came from behind her again, and she jumped.

“As in the Grim Reaper? Like, you’re asking me about mythology?”

Faster than she expected, Gagliardi was upon her, hand gripping her throat with a gruff hand. “You think you’re funny?” He hissed, face inches away from her own.

“Now, now, Gagliardi—there’s no need for that. Tell me, Miss Benhayoun, what do you know of what happened to Commander Reyes after the fall of Overwatch?”

Gagliardi’s outburst had been enough to shock her, and though her body betrayed her with its trembling, she still managed to glower at Dante before turning towards to Bonheur.

“They never found his body… but they still gave him a military ceremony.” _He would have hated that_ , she added inwardly. “I got his dog tags from his mother…” Her gaze became distant as her chest grew tight. The two men exchanged brief glances.

“And were you aware of the Commander’s medical condition?”

Emara’s shoulders tensed, pain shooting up into her skull. “Medical condition?” His condition wasn’t public record, and while she suspected they at least had an idea of it, she was hesitant to reveal anything about him. She heard Gagliardi scoff from behind her, and suspected he was rolling his eyes.

“Come now, Miss Benhayoun. I find it hard to believe that you were intimately involved with the Commander, and he never revealed his condition to you.” Bonheur’s smile became just a little too smug as he paused. “Unless, of course, you weren’t as close as you believed…”

Emara ground out a snarl. “If you’re talking about the genetic mutations that resulted from the SEP experiments he underwent at the hands of the US military, which were then further exasperated by Moira O’Deorian’s meddling, then yes, I knew of his ‘medical condition’.” The last two words were spat out with no small measure of venom.

Bonheur’s smile relaxed. “So, then you are, of course, aware that his condition provided him with a number of unique abilities, including accelerated cellular regeneration. Did you know he survived the explosion?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t known at the time—she’d thought he had died, just as everyone else had believed. She knew better now, of course, but that didn’t help the four years of grief. She narrowed her eyes as she regarded the interrogator, wondering if the other shoe had actually dropped just yet.

“I wasn’t aware,” she answered carefully.

“And now?”

Did they know he’d been seeing her? She considered her options and contemplated her response, then swallowed. “...Yes.”

“And how do you know he’s alive, now?”

She considered the Frenchman for a long minute, debating how to answer. Did she lie? She hadn’t yet, and wondered if this was all just some game for them, and they already knew what she’d say. She kept her mouth closed, and didn’t answer.

Gagliardi growled as he leaned too close to her ear, fingers wrapping around her throat without squeezing. “Do you fancy playing coy with us, _principessa_? We know already that he’s been coming to see you for some months now.”

“ _Gagliardi_ ,” Alphonse’s voice snapped out, and Emara’s shoulders remained tense. If they knew he’d been coming to see her, then there was no sense in trying to lie—they already knew all of her answers. But Gagliardi’s measured touch was enough to make her skin crawl.

“What do you know of the Reaper?” Dante demanded again.

“Precious little,” she answered, her tone measured as she met his scowl. “He came to me some months ago, as you said. He never revealed himself to me—I figured out who he really was on my own.”

“And your relationship with him?”

That caught her off guard. _That_ was too personal, and not up for scrutiny. “What about it?”

“What is the disgraced Commander of Blackwatch doing, visiting his former lover?” Gagliardi’s tone became oily, and it made Emara shudder, even as she scowled.

“He’s not disgraced,” she snapped. “He was set up. Overwatch was betrayed—” She stopped herself, quickly turning away. _Shit._ That wasn’t public record, but he hadn’t told her that, either. She had _other_ sources for that knowledge, and she didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole.

Bonheur’s expression grew cold, even as his mouth turned up in a thin smile. “Do go on…”

“No.”

Gagliardi let out a snarl as he grabbed her by the throat again, squeezing so hard and so fast that she choked. “ _Listen_ , you petulant little shit—stop playing coy. My patience is wearing thin.”

Despite the shock of the act, Emara remained unnervingly calm, her voice even. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Gagliardi barked a cruel laugh. “Or what? You’ll cry? Swear? You’re at our mercy, _principessa_ —it’s in your interest to cooperate.”

Emara let out a dry laugh that was choked off by Gagliardi’s squeezing grip. “ _Or what?_ ” She mocked. “You’ll kill me? I’m no good to you dead, if you’re using me as some kind of leverage. If you _really_ wanted me dead, I wouldn’t even be here right now,” she snarled, baring her teeth at him.

In a movement so swift that she didn’t see it happen, he struck her across the face. It was so hard that she found herself dazed, letting out a groan of pain.

“There is _precious little_ holding me back, right now.” He glanced at Bonheur. “Say something.”

Alphonse was frowning, though Emara didn’t see, still recovering from being struck. “Now… since we’ve established that the Reaper is the current moniker of your former lover, perhaps we can come to a better understanding of one another, Miss Benhayoun.” His voice was too reedy, and he was playing just a little too hard at simpering. “What has he told you of Talon? Our operations?”

Emara could feel her swollen lip and taste the blood on it. Lifting her head, she glared at Gagliardi as she spoke. “He’s never told me anything. He never even told me that he works for you—I figured that out on my own, too, and he just never denied it. That’s all I know.”

Gagliardi snarled as he struck her again. “ _Bullshit!_ ”

“Gagliardi, please,” Bonheur cautioned, though when he looked at Emara, his smile was just a touch too smug. “Is there nothing else you wish to add?”

Emara spat on the ground, and it was bloody. She looked up to Alphonse, working her jaw. “There’s nothing else I wish to add, because there’s nothing else _to_ add.”

Gagliardi didn’t speak, but began tapping his baton along the edges of her metal chair in a slow rhythm that made her pulse quicken in fear.

“Are you quite sure? He’s been seeing you for months, staying with you for days at a time… Surely he’s mentioned _something_ ,” Bonheur insisted.

“No,” Emara snapped. “He’s never mentioned anything.”

She felt the metal of the baton against her neck and with a _click_ , searing pain rippled through her body. She screamed and flinched, but couldn’t get away from it. “What are you doing!?” She shouted, when the baton moved away. Gagliardi’s smile was feral, all sharp edges and teeth, and she shuddered beneath his wild gaze.

“Lying is very unbecoming,” Bonheur crooned.

“I’m _not lying!_ ” She hissed. “He’s never told me anything about Talon.”

“Have you ever asked?” Bonheur inquired.

“ _No!_ ”

The baton pressed up against the other side of her neck, another bolt of electricity traveling through her body. When it stopped, she was trembling, her breathing ragged.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes!_ ” She bleated. “Stop fucking hitting me with that thing! It hurts!” She bellowed, turning her angry gaze on Gagliardi. He struck her across the face with the baton, and she was stunned.

“I will stop hurting you when you start telling the truth, _principessa_.” His wet emphasis on the last word made bile rise in her throat. She swallowed it down.

“I _am_ telling the truth!” She wailed, fighting against her traitorous body not to cry, but failing.

“ _Liar_.” He put the baton against her chest, and more electricity jolted her body. She screamed out, her throat raw and aching as she began to sob.

“ _Stop!_ Please!”

Bonheur gave a wan smile as she looked up at him, anger and fear mixed into the hate of her gaze. “It’ll be much easier if you tell us the truth, Miss Benhayoun,” he assured her.

She was crying, hiccuping on ragged, hitched breaths. “ _I am_ telling you the truth! He hasn’t told me anything!”

Gagliardi struck at her knee caps, the baton shocking her with each strike. “I’ll keep going until you spill your guts,” he warned.

“ _Stop it!_ ” She begged. “You’re not asking me to tell the truth, you’re asking me to tell you what you want to hear!” She squirmed, trying desperately to get away from the painful strikes and shocks.

Gagliardi didn’t speak for a moment, jabbing her with the baton along her arms, neck, and chest. “It’s the same thing, really.”

“ _No, it fucking isn’t!_ ” She squealed. “You’re demanding I tell you the truth—which I have! It’s not my fault that the truth isn’t what you want to hear—”

The next moment she was on the ground, still bound to the chair. Gagliardi had struck her across the face again, so hard the chair had toppled. Dazed and in excruciating pain, she was still grateful for the reprieve from being shocked. Slumping against the floor, she cried openly, every nerve in her body wound up taut and aching.

A gruff hand snapped around her throat, and she let out a ragged gasp as she felt herself being lifted along with the chair, suddenly upright again. Choking around his grip, her vision began going spotty.

“Gagliardi…” Bonheur’s tone was warning.

The Italian spit in her face, then let go before stepping back. “You’re lucky Bonheur is here. I get too excited when someone wants to play games.” His voice had an unpleasant edge to it.

Emara wept openly, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to jerk against her bonds. “I told you the truth,” she sobbed. “I don’t know anything! I don’t…”

Bonheur let out a sigh, a little exasperated. “I find it very hard to believe that he’s spent so much time with you these last months, and never once mentioned his work.”

“ _He didn’t!_ ” She shouted. “And even if he had, I didn’t care! I don’t care what he’s doing, all I care is that he’s there!”

Bonheur raised his brows, as if he were genuinely surprised. “That is an interesting thing to say, Miss Benhayoun. To say you don’t care what he’s doing… do you have any idea the things he’s done since coming into our fold? The things he’s capable of doing?”

“ _I. Don’t. Care._ ” Each word was punctuated by dripping anger. “I told you, I don’t care, and I meant it. I only care that he’s safe, and alive.”

Gagliardi barked out a cruel laugh. “I’d hardly call him alive,” he sneered, tapping the electric baton along her shoulders and collarbones.

Emara let out a beleaguered scream. “I told you to stop that, you miserable fuck!”

He lashed out and struck her with his fist again. “I don’t have to listen to you, _half-breed_.”

“Gagliardi, please!” Bonheur snapped. “Rein it in a little.”

He spit in her face again, but stepped back, turning the baton over in his hands.

“You must understand why that doesn’t seem plausible to us, Miss Benhayoun,” Alphonse drawled.

“I don’t give a _fuck_ if it sounds plausible or not, you _cunt_. It’s the _truth_.”

He leaned back then, looking down his nose at her. She could tell from the way his eyes moved between her, and the space behind her, that her interrogators were having some kind of non-verbal conversation. She heard Gagliardi stalking away, then tromping back, and the sound of sloshing.

She let out a scream of shock and pain as she was doused in ice water. “What are you doing!” She screeched. Her wet clothes clung to her body, and she felt the heat of shame colour her cheeks as she turned away.

“You’re not cooperating,” Gagliardi sneered. “So we’re finding other methods.”

Bonheur picked up the device that Gagliardi had been working so hard on earlier, and she finally saw the cables attached to it. They trailed off somewhere that she couldn’t see, but fear rose up in her throat like bile. She tasted more blood in her mouth.

“Now… allow me to ask you again, Miss Benhayoun: what has the Reaper told you about Talon, and its operations?”

She tried to square her shoulders and calm her stuttered breaths. “He hasn’t told me anything.”

She could hear the wicked smile in Gagliardi’s voice from behind her. “Wrong answer.”

Bonheur flicked a switched on the device in his hands, and Emara screamed as she felt the sustained pulse of electricity ripping through her body. It stopped, and she slumped in the chair, her chest heaving as she began crying again.

“Stop…”

“What do you know about Talon?” Bonheur demanded, his voice now jagged, like broken glass.

“You’re all a bunch of _fucking terrorists_ , but that’s _all_ I know!”

She heard the _click_ of the switch again, and the shock continued longer this time. She screamed again, body jerking involuntarily.

“ _Stop it!_ ”

“How does that feel?” Gagliardi’s voice was too close to her, and she wrenched her head away, his smile too feral and eager.

“Are you fucking _joking_!?”

“It hurts, yes? If you tell us the truth, we can make it stop hurting,” he assured her, hands on her shoulders.

“ _I am telling you the fucking truth, you just don’t want to listen!_ ” She was frantic and wild eyed, her entire body riddled with pain and fear.

“Come now,” Bonheur cooed. “Months and months he’s spent at your side, and he really never mentioned his employers once?”

“ _Go to Hell!_ ”

Bonheur tutted derisively and Gagliardi’s hands lifted off her shoulders. The telltale _click_ , and the electric shock seemed to last forever. She tried to count the seconds, and she thought it might be five, but it was hard to think straight when she was in that much pain.

“Really, now…” Bonheur sounded disappointed.

Emara sobbed openly, hiccuping as she shook with adrenaline and discomfort. “Stop it. Stop it. Please, stop.”

“What did he say about Talon?” Gagliardi’s fingers wrapped around her throat, but didn’t squeeze. “What did he tell you?”

It took Emara a good minute to find her voice again, her throat raw and aching. “The only time Talon ever came up was when I woke up next to him, _once_. You were calling him. I said he didn’t have to stay, because I didn’t want him to get in trouble, but he said he wanted to. He said you didn’t own him,” she sobbed. “That’s all he _ever said_ , I _swear_.”

Gagliardi sniffed as he looked towards Bonheur, who gave an errant smirk. Dante’s hands moved away from her again, and the other man flicked the switch. Emara tried to count again, but lost her place after seven. Alphonse was wide-eyed as he watched how she writhed and screamed.

When the pulse finally stopped, she slumped over, her entire body shaking wildly. Her heart rate sputtered and convulsed in her chest, and any movement she made was jerky, and unstable. She could feel herself drooling as her chin tucked into her chest. “Stop…”

Bonheur’s smile was tight, as if he was straining. With her head still sagging against her chest, she sobbed. “Why did you bring me here… if you already knew everything…”

A beat of tense silence passed before he squared his shoulders. “The Reaper has been stepping out of line as of late. Unauthorized missions, and prolonged disappearances, to name a few of his transgressions. The Inner Council tasked us to find out what was happening, so imagine our surprise when we learned that he had found his former paramour, and seemed to be stalking her. We suspected he might be seeking to recruit you, but after months and months of him going to see you, and no formal report, we began to grow suspicious.” He took Emara’s chin in his hand to lift her face up. “What was he telling you? What secrets was he revealing?” He purred, but his voice had an unpleasant edge to it.

“We kidnapped you to leverage as bait. In some days—whenever he goes to you next, I would imagine—he’ll discover you missing, with no trace or indication of where you’ve gone. He’ll have no choice but to come to us for aid. When he does, we’ll forward you to another location, where you’ll await the Talon team led by the Reaper to rescue you.”

Her vision was starting to go spotty, and her eyelids drooped. “But… he _works_ _for you_ … why would you do this?”

Bonheur’s smile was sharp and jagged. “He doesn’t know we’re involved—not yet, anyway. And by the time he finds out, it won’t matter, because we’ll have both of you under our thumb. You’ll be alive, and mostly whole. If he values your companionship—or your life—he won’t have room for complaint.”

Some great angry thing rose up in her guts like bile, and she grit her teeth before she spat in his face. “ _Go to Hell_ ,” she rasped.

He leaned back and very calmly walked back to the table, wiping her bloody saliva away in measured movements. He held her gaze as he picked up the device again, twisting a few dials before he flicked the switch.

Emara screamed and thrashed, the pain exponentially worse. Her entire body convulsed in shock, and she shook long after he had stopped.

“That wasn’t very nice, Miss Benhayoun,” he commented. “Do you have anything else you wish to add?”

She didn’t speak, and only shook her head. Bonheur hummed as he set the device down again, then looked to Gagliardi.

“Get her up. She can go into confinement for now, until we need her again.”

She was vaguely aware of being unbound, and she slid out of the chair, slumping to the floor. Dante hefted her over onto her front, and dug his knee into her spine while he secured metal shackles to her wrists. It was all she could do to let out a pathetic whimper before he grabbed at the back of her hair, lifting her up by it. She stumbled to try and stand, her legs trembling so much she could barely get herself upright.

Gagliardi shot a knowing look at Bonheur. “You always get to have all the fun.”

Bonheur gave a wan smile. “I prefer a less hands-on approach.”

With a cruel laugh, Gagliardi turned back to Emara, dragging her to the entrance of the room. It snapped open, and on the other side stood an armed and armoured contingent of Talon grunts waiting for them.

The leader of the ground nodded at Gagliardi. “Sir.”

The voice seemed familiar.

“Take her to Block B, Cell 9. I’ve forwarded temperature and handling instructions. Make sure she gets some electrolyte solution—she has another session with us tomorrow morning.”

The soldier nodded, taking her arm to drag her forward. His eyes lingered on her wet clothes where they clung to her body, and he lifted his gaze to the interrogator. “Restrictions, sir?”

Her guts churned as her addled brain made the connection—it was Danforth.

Bonheur appeared from behind Gagliardi. “She is to remain unsullied, so _no_ , you can’t play. She is bait and leverage; she’s no good to us damaged.”

Danforth grew tense, but nodded. “As you say, sir.”

Emara shuddered at how begrudging that response sounded. A cloth sack was secured over her head, and she was dragged away.

She wasn’t sure how long she was tugged around for, but eventually a door snapped open, and the sack was lifted from her head before she was gruffly shoved forward into a brightly-lit, white room. She stumbled and fell to her knees, then flopped over on her side, slowly taking in her surroundings.

Along one wall was a cot, though it was just a metal slab with no pillow, nor blanket or other padding. On the far side, near the door, a small squat toilet, with no paper or towels. The ceiling was made entirely of bright, white lights that reflected off the polished white surfaces of the room, aggravating her frayed nerves. The splitting headache she’d had when she awoke had transitioned into a migraine.

With slow, deliberate movements, she picked herself up off the floor, and tucked into a corner. Burying her face against her knees, she cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! If you liked my writing, please leave me a comment to let me know! It makes my day every time, and helps motivate me to continue writing! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭♡


	6. Lost & Found

The lights were off in Emara’s apartment as Gabriel manifested in the main entrance. It wasn’t remarkably uncommon, given that he tended to show up in the middle of the night.

He moved into the kitchen first. He’d gotten into a habit in recent months of brewing tea for her if she wasn’t home. She would leave a clean mug on the counter for him, if she hadn’t gotten home yet. If the mug wasn’t there, she’d already brewed herself one, and gone to bed.

The counter sat empty, and so he left the kitchen. It felt too quiet, and something in the space felt off, but he couldn’t place why. He shrugged the disquiet away, and stalked towards the hallway that led to her room. At the threshold, he paused—his unease gave way to worry, a rising sense of malcontent in his guts.

A shattered mug, and tea splattered on the rug and wall. Her raven statuette lay pitched some distance away. The hall rug lay askew. On the wall, dark marks.

He flicked the light switch, illuminating the corridor. The spatters on the wall were blood, as he had suspected, and his concern mounted. On the floor, staining the hall carpet, was more blood. It was dry. How long ago had this happened? Near the raven, a small swatch of fabric lay discarded.

Perhaps innocuous, but something about it seemed out of place. He crouched to pick it up—could it tell him anything?

His mouth went dry, and he stared at it for too long. _Talon…?_

A dozen questions muddled through his head—how had they found her? Why were they here? Had they been actively looking for her, or had they tracked her down because of him? What did they want with her? _She’s just a pastry chef._

A beat.

_She is now, but she was an engineer for Overwatch. One of the best, besides the Swede._ He cursed as he considered the implications, staring at the sigil again.

Anger boiled up in his chest, and he stalked through the hall towards her bedroom. Her bed was made, and didn’t look slept in. That seemed odd—but then so did the supply closet in her bathroom being open. Deep scratches on her door frame made him pause as he left her room again.

A dozen more questions rose up— _why now? Who ordered her capture? Did they know I was seeing her? Did they mean to leave a calling card?_ He couldn’t answer any of them. Not yet.

After a cursory check through the rest of the tiny apartment revealed nothing more of use, he flicked the light switch off—he had some research to do.

* * *

Everything still hurt. Her headache hadn’t abated since she’d awoken that first time in the interrogation room, and she was sure her shoulders were going to dislocate from being wrenched behind her back so much.

She tried to remember how many times she’d been interrogated since she’d arrived. Five times? She counted backwards from this one. Yes, five times.

She was only aware of the date and how long she’d been there because of her interrogators dating their recordings. It could be a ruse, but despite Talon being a cloister of dicks and assholes, she knew they probably still kept a decent filing system.

She was more alert now—three days later—than when she had first arrived. Whatever drug they had used to put her under had worn off and worked its way out of her system. Each day since the first, the two men had dragged her out of confinement into a room for questioning.

Sometimes, they pretended to make polite conversation—asking about her work, her friends, family and connections, had she been seeing anyone else since the Commander had died, et cetera. She wasn’t fooled, though—each time they brought her to a room and strapped her to a chair, it was an interrogation. She gave them precious little to work with. She complained that the drugs they had used on her, coupled with everything else, was giving her brain fog and making it hard to think clearly.

It wasn’t a complete lie, but she also wasn’t going to give them anything to leverage against her. At this point, nothing but Gabriel would give her pause—and that was need to know.

Bonheur was talking to her now, but she wasn’t listening to him. She focused her attention on a spot of her blood on the floor, letting the injury from her split lip drip onto her shirt. It wasn’t white anymore, but it had been at one time.

She was reminded of the fact that she hadn’t been allowed to bathe since she’d arrived, as well as the fact that she hadn’t been given a change of clothes, either. _To add to the illusion of confinement and misery_ , Bonheur had explained, a little too gleefully. There was no _illusion_ , but she knew he just meant it was just part of the torture. They were playing the long game, too.

She’d barely been allowed any water, and hadn’t been given anything to eat, beyond the electrolyte solution, but she would hardly count that as _food_. Her senses were frayed and her nerves were shot. When she cried, it wasn’t an act.

She hadn’t seen a mirror since before she’d arrived at _wherever-the-hell-this-was_ , and was hesitant to find one. Regardless, she knew that if Gabriel could see her now, all that would be left of Alphonse and Dante wouldn’t fill a thimble.

“Well?” Bonheur’s exasperated voice cut through the din and dragged her unwillingly back into the room with them.

“What.” She snapped, looking at him with a scowl.

“Have you considered returning to engineering work, Miss Benhayoun? We have done our research into what you were responsible for and capable of with Overwatch. You would be a good fit for Talon.” His smile was gentle and inviting, but she could see the malice in his eyes, where the gesture didn’t reach.

She considered him for a moment, then barked out a laugh. “Really?” To say she was incredulous would have been gentle. “I’m strapped to a chair, rigged with electrodes; you’ve been torturing me for _days_ , and now you want me to _work here_?”

He simply looked at her, as if it was the most normal thing that had been said to her since arriving. She laughed again, but the sound was hollow. “Go to Hell.”

“There's no need for such a crass attitude,” he said. “I’m certain we could… _persuade_ you.”

She narrowed her eyes at his tone, cocking a brow.

“Of course, there are incentives—we wouldn’t just expect you to take on a position for the accolades alone.” He was simpering now, his voice sickly sweet. It made her tense and uneasy.

“If you’re concerned about your resume, there’s no need to worry. On paper, you won’t work _directly_ for Talon, but one of our legitimate and well-known subsidiaries. We have a number of locations and companies located all across the globe, and of course, you would be given free choice of where you’d like to be placed. We can even set you up at a firm in Paris, since you already live there.”

Her visible discomfort seemed to delight him, his smile taking on a feral edge.

“Beyond that, the offer comes with a very generous employment package. Excellent compensation, access to all the best and latest technology and equipment—and if it isn’t on hand, we can procure it, as long as it exists. Compensated travel and accommodations for work-related functions, ample vacation and sick leave—all paid, of course. Your R&D budget is limitless, so long as you can make a case for the utility of a project. We also have a number of staff discounts available—”

“Can you stop talking?” Emara snapped through gritted teeth. “You must think you’re being really cute, pretending like you’re offering me amnesty in the form of employment? I _have_ a job. I’m a _pâtissière_.”

“Perhaps now, but Talon has no use for _pâtissières_. They do, however, have use for mechanical and military engineers. You will find our organization is very welcoming. There are already a number of your former colleagues working for us—whether they know it or not.”

“I really don’t _care_ what Talon does and doesn’t have use for,” she gritted out, barely containing her snarl.

“I’m sure we can change your mind, Emara.” The way his mouth twisted around her name made her feel sick.

“It’s not an offer,” Gagliardi added, leaning over her shoulder from behind. She shied away from him as best she could, and he placed his hands on her shoulders, thick fingers wrapping around her neck. Her pulse spiked as her throat closed up, and she struggled to breathe. He wasn’t choking her, but besides being both unwanted and unwelcome, his touch also filled her with dread.

“It _sounds_ like an offer,” she shot back, but her voice wavered.

“It’s not,” he assured her, his touch delicate as he traced a line over her shoulders. The gesture was too intimate, and she hissed as she squirmed away. The Italian laughed darkly as he settled his chin on her shoulder, hands stroking along her arms. “Just like you didn’t have a choice in these interrogations, you don’t have a choice now. It’s fun to give you the illusion of one, but you’ll end up working for us one way or another.”

Emara stiffened, her jaw set as she swallowed the sensation of bile rising in her throat. Bonheur sighed as he shook his head.

“You know, Dante, it’s not nice to ruin my fun,” he chided, but his smile became wicked only a moment later. “He’s right, of course. You’ll work for Talon, whether willingly or under duress. After all, you wouldn’t want something unpleasant to happen to Gabriel, would you?”

Tension rippled through her limbs, and her breath hitched. “Gabriel can take care of himself.” She tried to be flippant, but her voice was unusually reedy.

“Oh, we’re well aware of that, Emara,” Alphonse went on. “But I’m sure you can see that his condition has worsened since Zurich—”

“Where is this going?” She narrowed her eyes.

“We have ways—” Gagliardi began, voice too close, “of making his existence unbearably painful. It’s in your interest to do as we say, if you don’t want to find out how.”

Emara squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to retch at how Gagliardi handled her as he spoke. “You’re full of shit. What purpose is there in torturing him?” She snapped, but her voice trembled. “He _works for you_.”

“Oh, Emara,” Bonheur sighed. “It’s not about Gabriel. It’s about _you_. Of course, the Reaper holds value to us, and it isn’t our first choice to leverage your loved ones against you—” Emara nearly laughed at how blatant and bald-faced that lie was. “But we aren’t opposed to doing so, if it’ll get us what we want. And Talon wants to see your considerable skills and expertise as an engineer put to good use again.” A pause. “To our mutual benefit, of course.”

Looking back through their interrogations, she realised she had made it abundantly clear to them that leveraging Gabriel against her was one of the only ways she would comply with _any_ demand, but particularly one so outlandish. She knew that they might be bluffing, but she wasn’t certain it was worth the risk to find out.

Gagliardi’s unwelcome and too-intimate touch continued to trail along her pulse, and her arms and shoulders. She choked on her breath as she squirmed again, on the verge of vomiting. Bonheur sat some distance away, leaning against the table. His expression was relaxed, but his jaw was taut, and she could see his erection straining against his trousers.

Genuine fear flashed across her features, and she squeezed her eyes shut again as she struggled to move away from Dante. “ _Stop touching me_ ,” she hissed, her voice trembling.

“Are we making you uncomfortable, Emara?” Alphonse purred, fingers dancing over the slope of her knee, and up along her thigh.

“ _Yes_ ,” she hissed through gritted teeth, leveling her glare at him, tears brimming in her eyes.

He barked a laugh as he took his hand away. Fear rippled through her, and she stiffened as he leaned down, taking her chin in his fingers to tip her face up.

“Pity. I’d like a turn with you—you scream so easily,” he sighed. “Such a pleasant sound.” He brushed his thumb over her lip too hard, breaking the scab and smearing fresh blood over her mouth. She jerked away from him with a strangled cry, and Gagliardi sucked in a breath behind her.

With a shudder, she ground her teeth and barely swallowed the urge to spit in Bonheur’s face. No, that would only end _very_ badly for her.

“Are you sexual predators, or interrogators?” She snarled, adrenaline outpacing her fear.

Gagliardi laughed darkly as his fingers teased the fabric of her shirt down to expose her shoulder. “Why can’t we be both?” His mouth was on her skin and she retched out a sob.

Her shoulders ached from the tension in them, and she squirmed violently, trying to escape their attention. Angry tears pricked at her eyes as she leveled a glare up at Bonheur, whose expression could only be described as wicked. She wasn’t sure how much of their unwanted advances were just perverted banter, and how much of it was serious. She _was_ sure that she didn’t want to find out.

She drew in a deep breath, trying to settle her breathing again. “You’re dancing around and trying to distract me. Get to the point.”

Bonheur smiled, but there was a jagged edge to it. “Talon is making a _very generous_ offer of employment, and it behooves you to think _very carefully_ about your decision,” he said.

“You already know the consequences if you refuse, don’t you, _principessa_ ,” Gagliardi added, his breath hot on her ear as his tongue flicked the lobe.

She couldn’t hold back her gag, and he rubbed her shoulders. She tried to shake him off, and he finally relented with a cruel laugh.

“Alright, I got it,” she muttered. “I’m not giving you an answer now. We’ll see what happens once Gabriel comes for me.”

Alphonse raised a curious brow. “You sound so certain. Do you really think he’ll come for you?”

Emara gave him a wan smile, though the gesture didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t _think_ anything. I _know_.” She didn’t _really_ know, but she had to believe he would. Otherwise, what was the point in drawing this out?

“Your confidence is inspiring, _principessa_ ,” Dante clipped, his voice anything but sincere.

“You can put me back in my cell, now,” she hissed.

Alphonse gave a dry laugh as he strolled back to the table and leaned against it. “Oh, no, Emara. We still have some other questions for you, and we like to be _very thorough_ ,” he drawled, lifting the control box off the table. Her heart dropped into her stomach, and she heard the click of Gagliardi’s baton from behind her.

Bonheur gave her a wicked smile as he caught the fear in her gaze. “Shall we begin?”

* * *

In the darkness of a server room, Gabriel searched furiously through manifests, reports, requisitions— _anything_ that might help him pinpoint where they had taken Emara, or why. Hours of fruitless queries had left him drained, and only more agitated. He began to wonder if someone else had taken her—after all, the epaulette sigil being left behind was unusually sloppy.

He sensed the woman behind him before she announced her presence. His patience had worn thin, and he barely concealed a snarl. “I know you’re there, Sombra,” he gritted out.

Her caustic laugh made his shoulders tense. “You looking for something, Gabe?”

“I’m sure you already know what I’m looking for.”

She hummed. “Not what, I think, but who… no?”

That had been more than he’d expected. “Where is she?”

Sombra laughed again. “Where’s the fun in just _giving_ you the information you're after?”

He rounded on her with a snarl, but she had already slipped around him to sit on another nearby console. “ _Relajate_ , I'll help you,” she assured him, rolling her eyes. “But I’m not just going to _give you_ what you want. All information is valuable—you just have to find the right buyer. Isn’t that right, _amigo_?” The way she had emphasized the last word made his lip curl behind his mask.

“Stop playing games, _Olivia_ ,” he snarled.

Her playful smile vanished, and she watched him through narrowed eyes. He didn’t gloat—he didn’t need to. After a moment, her expression relaxed and she drummed her fingers on her knee.

“So _grumpy_ ,” she tutted. “You know, it took a lot of work to get this…” Above her palm, holographic data bytes flickered.

Gabriel eyed her warily. “Cut to the chase,” he rasped. “We both know you have what I’m after, so what do you want?”

Her expression grew cold as she smiled. “Bargain with me.”

It shouldn’t have surprised him—how quickly she could go from light-hearted and jovial to serious and dour. He growled as he regarded her from behind his mask. “You clearly have something in mind…”

She hummed as she tipped her head back. “I may,” she replied. “Tell me—what’s her life worth to you?” Her voice was strangely even, and he felt a tickle of anxiety in his chest. What kind of question was that?

“What do you know?”

“You can’t answer a question with another question, Gabe. If you want my help, you’ll answer me, first,” she replied.

“She is of significant value to me _alive_.” His response was measured, and Sombra regarded him with a shrewd expression.

“ _Significant_ _value_ …” she parroted his words in a mocking tone, and he winced. The words had already sounded twisted, and a little wrong, but he was trying to play his cards close to his chest. The less she knew, the better.

“I want to know just _how_ valuable she is to you,” the hacker replied, making the data bytes vanish with a snap of her fingers.

He let out a snarl of frustration. “Tell me where she is.”

She laughed. “Oh, I don’t know _that_ ,” she lied, knowing he would see through her. “I do have a _lot_ to share with you, though. Maybe some other agents can help.”

A nearby tablet blinked to life, data popping up on the screen. He snatched it up, scrolling through through the personnel files briefly—there was the extraction team of Danforth, Szinetár, Karapetyan, and Wasylenko.

Then, there were the interrogators—Gagliardi and Bonheur. He didn’t know them personally, but he’d seen their work before. His concern mounted, but he moved on to the target dossier. The file was uninformative—much of the information they had on her could easily be found in the public record. Her name and known affiliations were redacted, but he suspected they knew by now that he was involved with her.

A number of recent photos were attached, most appearing to have been taken through windows in her apartment, or lifted from CCTV. Other photos—marked Special Clearance— showed different scenes of the two of them in her apartment. That answered his suspicion—they knew. So, it was likely that his involvement with her had placed her in danger in the first place. He cursed beneath his breath before moving on.

The reports from the extraction team made him bristle, particularly Danforth’s, filled with inflammatory language and violence. Post-interrogation debriefs from both Bonheur and Gagliardi were next. He skimmed them briefly, his hackles rising the further he got. He forced himself to stop—it was only making him angrier. Still, there was no information about where to find her.

The last files were the most distressing—video files marked with her file number, a date, and interrogation room.

There were seven files in total, and his heart sank into his stomach. He checked the date on the extraction reports—she’d been here for four days already, right under his _God damn nose_ and he hadn’t caught a whiff of it. He hovered over one of the video files, and Sombra tutted.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” she put in, a hint of concern in her voice. “At least, if you care about her, anyway. It’s not pretty.”

“Shut up,” he snarled, his metal-clad fingers clenching around the tablet. The screen cracked and sparked as it powered down, and Sombra chuckled.

“Well, looks like you won’t be able to, anyway,” she added. “Good luck on your quest, _Gabe_. I’ll be watching.”

* * *

Gabriel debated if he should approach Gagliardi or Bonheur first. No, he decided—their roles would only make them lie through their teeth. Everything about the op suggested that he hadn’t been meant to discover Talon’s involvement. If that was the case, confronting either of them directly could lead to complications, including something worse happening to her. He didn’t want to think about that. The sooner she was out of harm’s way—or at least their reach—the better.

Karapetyan and Wasylenko were off-base playing bodyguard for one of Vialli’s relatives, and Szinetár was running a training exercise. He managed to track down Danforth to a courtyard office.

The blonde man stood in front of a large window facing the courtyard. He noticed the Reaper’s reflection in the glass as the wraith manifested, shoulders growing tense.

“Sir,” he offered casually, looking at him in the glass pane. When he didn’t move or acknowledge the lieutenant, Danforth turned over his shoulder to look, and froze—the office was empty.

A tense beat passed, and he turned back to his tablet only to leap backwards with a shout, coming face to mask with the foreboding mercenary.

The Reaper towered over the startled man, the cold gaze of the mask boring into him. “Danforth.” The word dripped with venom.

Danforth seemed to notice, but paid it no mind as he straightened his posture—the Reaper was known for being bitchy at the best of times. He supposed if he was a genetic abomination made of smoke and God-knew-what-else, he wouldn’t be too happy either.

“Something I can do for you, sir?” He asked, putting emphasis on the last word. It wasn’t lost on Gabriel that he really meant “asshole”.

With a tilt of his head, he watched Danforth squirm from the sound of his popping joints. “Where is she?”

A beat passed between them, and Danforth considered the wraith for a moment. How did he know about the new Talon pet? And what was his interest in her?

“Sir?” Danforth was just a little simpering, and _very_ smarmy. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. Which ‘she’ are you looking for? We have several female agents—”

Gabriel snarled as he leaned in close, the mask nearly pressing up against the bandage on the lieutenant’s nose. “Where. Is. She.” Fury bubbled just beneath the surface of his demeanour as he regarded the younger man coldly.

Danforth tried to seem relaxed and casual, but Gabriel could see the tension in his shoulders. “Who are you looking for, sir? If I have a name, I can—” Gabriel moved closer, forcing Danforth to take an uncomfortable step back so that his spine was wedged against the desk behind him. Gabriel’s patience was running _very_ thin.

“What happened to your face?” He tried.

Danforth swallowed, his expression faltering for a moment. “Training accident. Took a knee to the face,” he lied, forcing a tight smile.

“Interesting,” he drawled, lifting the epaulette between clawed fingers. “The way I hear it, you were part of an extraction four days ago, and you got your broken nose from the target after you assaulted her.”

Danforth’s complexion paled, and he looked visibly uncomfortable. “Uh…” The extraction and interrogation were highly classified, and he hadn’t been briefed or notified that the mercenary was cleared to know anything about it. “Not sure where you heard that, sir. I haven’t been off-base in at least a week.” He didn’t look at his shoulder—he didn’t need to. _That sneaky little bitch…_

“I’m out of patience,” Gabriel snapped, grabbing Danforth roughly by the throat. He whirled and pinned him against the glass, the wide barrel of a hellfire shotgun lodged up against the underside of his chin. Danforth gazed up into the cold stare of the barn owl mask. “I’m going to give you one last chance to answer my question, and if I don’t get what I need from you, I’m going to paint this window with your brains. Understand?” Danforth squirmed, but nodded quickly. “Good. Now… where is she.”

Danforth held his breath. “Block B, Cell 9,” he stammered, not bothering to try and hide the tremble in his voice.

Gabriel tossed him to the ground, and there was a long pause as he considered the lieutenant. He wisped closer, hovering inches away from Danforth’s face. “If you _ever_ lay hands on her again, I’ll cut off your eyelids and make you _wish_ all you’d gotten was a broken nose.” A beat. “Am I understood?”

Gabriel felt as though he could see the wheels turning in the lieutenant’s head as he made the appropriate connections. Eyes wide, he nodded swiftly. “Yes, sir,” was all he said, his voice a trembling whisper.

With a hissing growl, Gabriel evaporated into a cloud of tendrilous smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! If you liked my writing, please leave me a comment to let me know! It makes my day every time, and helps motivate me to continue writing! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭♡


	7. Sanctuary

Emara lay on the cot in her cell, facing the wall. Her hands had been left bound behind her back with shackles, and her shoulders ached from being stuck in the same position for so long. The room temperature had been lowered again, and goosebumps covered her entire body. Shivering only did so much to keep her warm. For the most part, it just made her ache. The lights that reflected off the polished white surfaces in the room were almost violent in their assault on her senses, making it hurt to keep her eyes open, hurt to breathe—hurt to even think, most of the time.

She knew it was just part of their game—another way to wear her down. She’d never received any formal training in withstanding torture, but Gabriel had talked her through it a few times. Years ago, now— _just in case_ , he’d always muttered. She had teased him for it at the time— _I’m just an engineer. I’ll never need this_. Now, she could only be grateful to him for examining other angles. It hurt her heart to think about it.

She considered that the more egregious torture was done in the form of passive abuse like this—bright white lights on polished white surfaces, low room temperatures, not allowing her to bathe, denying her food and water… These were small things, but in many ways, weighed heavier on her than the short, painful bursts of active torture and roundabout questioning.

Talon wanted what they wanted, and they’d do whatever they could to get it—and her resolve was wearing thin. She clung to the quiet hope that Gabriel would come before she gave in.

She tried to swallow down the nausea that rose up from her guts, barely managing against the dry scratch in her throat. An errant sob tore out of her as she tucked her chin into her chest, squeezing her eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the harsh lights. “Please…” she whispered, to no one.

The hissing _whoosh_ of her cell door was familiar now, and she flinched at it. They weren’t back for her already, were they? She was sure she hadn’t been back for very long at all… Unless she had fallen asleep? But she didn’t _feel_ like she’d rested. She supposed it didn’t matter—sleep here came from exhaustion, not restful surroundings.

Her limbs ached with tension as she waited to be roughly dragged from the cot again. Instead, a cold hand gripped her wrist, and she felt something jiggling in the shackles. _What the hell…?_

Her pulse spiked as her mind scrambled, her throat closing up. Could she could catch them off guard, and hit them? She thought she could. She almost laughed at herself—completely defenseless, half-cocked on lack of sleep and being tortured and abused for three days—or was it more?—she’d be gunned down before she even got out of the cell.

One of the shackles loosened with a _click_ , and she considered her course of action. There wasn’t time to think. It was do it, or be dragged back to be harassed and electrocuted and _God only knew what else_. As the second metal bond slackened on her wrist, she curled her fingers around the loop. Her guest grabbed hold of her arm to turn her over, and she rounded on them with violent fury.

They were faster—because of course they were—and caught her wrist, pinning her back into the cell wall as she let out a cry of agony. The shackles clattered loudly on the metal slab, and she let out a ragged sob—it had been a poor choice to move so quickly. Her head and neck throbbed from the strain, and she was sure she’d hurt her shoulder in the movement. She leveled a glare at her assailant, only to come face to face with the familiar off-white of a barn owl mask.

She drew in a rattling breath. “ _Gabriel…?_ ”

Tendrils of smoke wafted off of him, slowly creeping along her arms. He only stared, taking in the state of her. Latent fury twisted in his guts, and he was caught between relief and rage. His mind was already formulating plans for the people who had done this to her. For now, though, he returned his attention to the woman in front of him, wisps of smoke licking up along the column of her throat.

“Don’t breathe.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as she swallowed a gulp of air. Inky blackness surrounded her, and it was so cold that it burned. She didn’t breathe until the sensation suddenly disappeared, and she was left with a painful ache that spread out across sore limbs and chapped skin.

Winded, she struggled to draw breath as her body recovered from the shock of moving with him like that. Squinting against the darkness, bright spots filled her vision as she reached out.

“Gabriel? Are you there?” She rasped.

A gauntleted hand gripped hers. “I’m here.”

She let out a deep sigh—a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding—and slumped forward as the tension in her dissipated. Her mouth worked in the darkness, like she was trying to speak, but when she finally managed to get a sound out, it was only a ragged sob. Cold hands grasped her, pulling her in against a hard chassis. She didn’t try to swallow her grief, her body wracked by painful breaths. The urge to vomit rose up in her throat, but she managed to swallow it down.

She cried for some long minutes, hiccuping on hitched gasps. He stroked her hair, rubbed her shoulders and back, and repeated over and over again— _I’ve got you_.

When her breathing finally stabilised, she had exhausted her reserves of tears, and she sucked in a breath. “Where are we?”

“Venice,” he rasped. “My quarters.”

Silence settled as he separated himself from her. Only hours ago, she’d had dozens of questions to ask, but she suddenly couldn’t recall any of them. _I just want you, right now. Please._

“Come here,” she said, looking for him in the darkness. “Please.”

She heard the clatter of him discarding his trappings before he gripped her arms again. Without the unrelenting stiffness of his chassis, he felt almost soft. She pressed her face into his chest, breathing in the faint, earthy smell of decay.

Cold fingers squeezed at the nape of her neck, and she heard him try and fail to voice something several times. “What happened,” he finally said.

“Water,” she whispered.

A pause, and then a water bottle pressed into her hands, and she downed it in two gulps. She let out a low sigh of relief. Hands touched her face, cradling her skull.

“What happened?” He demanded again.

“So much,” she groaned. “Please, Gabriel, not now…”

The feeble ache of her voice did something to his brittle heart. Wound too tight, he wasn’t sure why he wanted to know. Maybe because he wanted to know how severe the retribution should be. Maybe because he wanted to hear her voice. It didn’t matter; none of the people involved would be allowed to walk away—he would make sure of that.

His thumbs brushed over the shape of her cheekbones, and he could feel a welt on the right side. He gritted his teeth. “What do you need?” He asked, instead.

“A bath, and a change of clothes. Food— _real_ food. Something sinful and delicious. The heads of my enemies on a gilded platter, maybe…”

He couldn’t help his chuckle, pressing a kiss against the stringy nest of her hair. “That can be arranged,” he murmured.

“Which part?”

“All of it.” _But especially the last part_ , he decided. She laughed, but the sound was empty and hollow. A bath was definitely in the very-near future, but he needed to hold her for a minute longer—just to assure himself she was really there. He pulled her in close, holding her a little too tightly, but she didn’t protest. He felt almost warm, in comparison to the cold of her cell.

After a minute, she pushed against his chest. “Gabriel…” There was a beat of silence between them, and he released his hold on her, keeping his hands pinned to her hips. “Please, I’m so gross…” She whined. “I need a shower. I feel so _disgusting_ , I just want to scrub all of my skin off…”

He brushed his thumb over the swell of her injured lips, then took her hand, leading her through the darkness. They came to a stop and she could feel the floor beneath her was smooth and cold—a bathroom, she hoped.

“Can I turn on the light?” He asked, remembering her bloodshot eyes in the blinding white cell.

She sighed. “Yeah…”

With a soft click, the lights flickered to life, illuminating the bathroom. The colour palette was dark, and made the lights much less grating on her frayed nerves. The lines were all very sleek and modern, bordering on minimalism. She wasn’t sure why she was noticing those things—maybe it was just keeping her distracted.

The shower stall was big, surrounded by frosted glass panels. It looked like it could fit three or four people comfortably. The tub was wide, and deep, and definitely jetted—she could feel herself relaxing already. Gabriel’s expression was hard as he watched her, cold fingers still curled around hers.

“You alright?” He rasped.

It was then that she glanced into the mirror above the double-basin countertop. She hadn’t seen herself since before she’d arrived, and it was jarring to look at her own reflection. With a wince, she quickly turned away, and scooted towards the shower stall, sliding a panel out of the way to step inside.

“Em.” She flinched at the sound of Gabriel’s voice, turning over her shoulder to look at him. “You never answered me…”

“I’m not,” she whispered. “But I don’t have a choice, right now, do I?”

“What do you need?” His voice was unusually quiet.

“You.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “The rest is details.”

Her brows furrowed as her expression twisted, and he pulled her in against his chest. He cradled the back of her hair as she cried, her fingers curling tightly into her fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. It sounded pathetic, even to her, and Gabriel squeezed the back of her neck softly.

“Don’t apologise,” he insisted, taking a step back. “Do you want me to help you?”

She nodded slowly. “Please.” Her voice cracked. “I need you, Gabriel. Everything feels like jagged edges and broken glass…”

Her gaze was distant, her eyes focused on a point that was too far away as tears slipped down her cheeks. He caught her chin to make her look up at him.

“Hey. Stay with me, Em.”

She nodded again, wiping feebly at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry…”

The way she said it made some brittle thing inside of him crack. What was _she_ apologising for? He didn’t want to know—whatever it was, she had no reason to be doing it. He hushed her as he tipped her up, leaving a soft trail of kisses along her forehead, nose, and cheeks. She slowly began to relax, holding onto his arms to steady herself.

Silence hung between them as he helped her strip off her shirt and underwear. His eyes lingered on the ugly bruises dappled across her olive skin, and he bit back a snarl. He left her under the hot water while he quickly shed his own clothes.

Stepping back into the stall, he paused. She’d sunk to the floor, her head bowed against her chest, unmoving. He pursed his lips, but let the quiet hang on as he touched her shoulder to let her know he was there, then grabbed the loofah.

The tension slowly drained out of her limbs as he turned her this way and that, soaping and scrubbing away the grime, dried blood, and who-knew-what-else from her skin. She let him, emptying her mind as she focused on the deliberate in-and-out of her breaths. The hot water was both a blessing and a curse—it felt amazing to finally have the grime of her ordeal scrubbed away, but the soap stung at the raw parts of her skin, where she was dappled with scrapes and cuts. Gabriel did his best to be mindful, but they both knew there was only so much to be done for it.

Comfortable silence hung between them while he washed her hair, until she let out a groan as he massaged her scalp. “That’s nice,” she mumbled. Gabriel’s hands drifted over the taut muscles in her shoulders, slowly working out the knots.

Long minutes passed while she leaned back into his chest, relishing the comfort brought by something as simple as hygiene. “Hot water and soap are where it’s at,” she murmured. Gabriel couldn’t help his snort, cool hands drifting up and down along her arms. He placed an experimental kiss at the space where her shoulder met her throat, her fingers flexing against his thighs. There was so much to say, but he wasn’t exactly sure where to start.

Emara lifted her face, and put a soft kiss against his pulse before she turned off the water. They stepped out of the stall, and Gabriel took his time, carefully drying her off with a soft, plush towel. Her sigh was long, deep, and cathartic—he watched her shoulders slump, but the relief on her face was palpable. She turned towards the mirror, taking stock of her injuries. The rich tone of her skin disguised some of the marks, but there were still more than she ever wanted to have to see again.

She brushed her fingers over her diaphragm where she had a greenish-purple bruise from where Danforth had assaulted her some days earlier. Next, her throat, and dozens of finger and handprints—some fresh and purple, others yellowish as they faded. Scores of superficial bruises covered her arms and legs from the baton, and just generally being knocked around, but her right side was the most egregious. A long, purplish mark that extended from her ribs to her knee—from when Gagliardi had rended her to the ground in the interrogation room, that first time. Her throat closed up at the memory, and she leaned against the counter while she forced herself to count her breaths.

  
Gabriel’s cool hands on her shoulders helped her centre herself, and she let out another sigh. “Thank you, Gabe… I—” A beat. “Just… thank you.”

He leaned forward to put another lingering kiss on her pulse. It wasn’t meant to incite or to tease, but as comfort. She took it, leaning her head back against his chest as she sighed again. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against the damp crown of her hair.

A hard lump formed in her throat, and her skin prickled. “I need to lay down,” she said, finally. Gabriel nodded as he helped her into the oversized bathrobe off the back of the door. It was soft against her skin, and set her remarkably at ease, but despite its warmth, and the barely faded heat of the shower, she suddenly felt cold. She discarded it as a side-effect of being locked in a freezing room for four days.

He took her hand as he flicked the light off, and guided her through the darkness again. The next light that blinked on was softer than the bathroom, illuminating a large bedroom. The palette was dark and simple, again bordering on minimalism, but it looked surprisingly cozy. The air smelled a little stale, and she briefly wondered how much time Gabriel actually spent in here.

Gabriel pressed what she assumed was a painkiller into her palm, along with a water bottle, and looked at her expectantly. She nodded as she swallowed both down, then worked her jaw.

“I need to brush my teeth,” she mumbled. Gabriel sighed fondly as he nudged her towards the bed, helping her settle into the silky sheets. The comforter was heavy and warm as he drew it up to her chin, and she groaned—a soft sound of content as she nestled into the pillows. She really was exhausted, and the bed was offensively comfortable.

A firm hand on her shoulder made her open her eyes to look at him. “I want to go get a few things for you,” he said, voice soft. “Will you be alright on your own for a little while?”

She quickly turned towards him, wincing at the tense ache that shot up her spine. “Can’t I go with you?” She croaked. He shook his head.

“You’ve only got the robe to wear, and the less you’re exposed, right now, the better,” he rumbled. “I’ll put on an emitter, but I won’t be long.” He shuffled into the darkness, and returned with a biotic emitter, clicking it on and setting it on the bedside table near her.

“Gabe, please don’t leave me.” She didn’t mean to sound desperate, but she was raw and everything on her insides still felt a bit jagged. He sighed as he settled down on the bed next to her, on top of the covers.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” he promised. “And I’ll be back before you wake up. I’ll even get you a toothbrush.”

She snorted as she pressed her forehead into his chest, letting him scoop her up into his arms. _I don’t want to be by myself, right now. Please don’t go._ A lingering kiss against her crown made her bite her lip, hard.

Despite her trepidation, exhaustion had long since settled into her bones. That, coupled with the luxurious sheets, and the low thrum of Gabriel’s heartbeat beneath her fingers sent her drifting.

“You had better be here when I wake up…” she mumbled, already half asleep. Gabriel chuckled as he pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“I won’t be long,” he said, already working her out of his embrace. “Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! If you liked my writing, please leave me a comment to let me know (please, my crops are literally dying...)! It makes my day every time, and helps motivate me to continue writing! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭♡


	8. In Another Place

A cold hand on Emara’s forehead startled her awake, and she froze. Her posture relaxed beneath the blankets as she saw Gabriel’s familiar countenance hovering above her. That’s right—she wasn’t in the cell anymore, or the interrogation rooms; she was in Gabriel’s quarters, somewhere in a Talon compound… in Venice? That sounded right.

She reached up to cup his cheek, and he turned into her hand to kiss her palm, covering it with his own as he sighed. “How are you feeling?” It was a stupid question—he knew the answer. But he wanted to hear her voice.

“Awful,” she admitted hoarsely. “My whole body hurts, I have a headache, I’m like 40% bruise…” She paused and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “I could go on, but I think you get the picture.”

His thumb drew over the shape of her bruised cheekbone. _I did this to you…_

As if she could read his mind, she reached up to take his face in her hands. “None of that matters, though. I’m with you, and we’re both safe. That’s enough.”

He turned to kiss her palm again. “I’m sorry, Em…”

“Don’t be,” she sighed. “Something like this was bound to happen eventually. It just sucks that it happened the way it did…”

Gabriel sighed gruffly, and she sat up in the bed. “Hey,” she called him. “Can you help me with some physio? The emitter is helping a bit, but everything still feels creaky…” Distracting him with a care task would work for a while, and she needed the help, anyway. He remained quiet as he helped her shrug off the oversized bathrobe.

His expression turned to a scowl as his gaze passed over her body again, and she nudged his chin. A meaningful look passed between them, and he took her hand to kiss the tips of her fingers. Touching his forehead to hers, he squeezed at the nape of her neck.

“I’ve got you.” It was for his benefit, as much as for hers, and she seemed to deflate as she let out a slow breath. A lingering kiss on her forehead made her tremble—she was safe, or as safe as she could be, and reconciling that was a challenge for them both.

He carefully moved her this way and that while he worked the stiffness out of her joints. She’d be sore and feeble for a few days, but at least she was out of harm’s way—or that’s what he kept telling himself. It was easier to stomach.

When he was finished, he sat beside her, cold fingers delicately tracing the ugly purple bruise that made up much of her right side. She rested her head in his lap, absently stroking the fabric along his thigh.

“Is there anything to eat?” Now that pain and discomfort wasn’t at the forefront of her thoughts, her hunger was more apparent—and she was ravenous.

“What are you in the mood for?” He asked, brushing her hair behind her ear.

She sighed as she turned to kiss his fingers. “Gratin dauphinois,” she moaned, salivating at the very idea of the soft, creamy potato dish. “Maybe some lamb tagine, with lots of paprika and cinnamon and cumin. Oh, or you could make that chicken and lime soup you always used to do when I was sick…” She trailed off, her expression dreamy. Gabriel chuckled as he thumbed over a fading welt on her cheek.

“I do remember your recipe for gratin. Don’t know if we have lamb, or a tagine, but I can definitely make the soup,” he replied. She giggled as she left a kiss on his leg.

“I’d love that, but I should probably just have something light, for now,” she admitted with a sigh. “They were playing the long game with me, withholding food and water. I got some electrolyte solution a few times, and some water here and there, but I know I’m dehydrated, and my stomach actually really hurts.” He scowled, and she sat up, scooting into his lap. “They got off on the power play, too. One of the last times I was in a room with them, they ate a whole five course meal in front of me while they asked questions and slapped me around. They thought it was _hilarious_.” A beat. “Fuck, I’m so hungry…”

As if to punctuate the statement, her stomach gurgled softly. Gabriel put his arms around her, pressing his mouth into the side of her throat. The tension bled out of him as she sighed and leaned back into his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it. Something simple would be just fine, too. Maybe some scrambled eggs on rye or sourdough. Or pasta. Oh, you could make me spaghetti aglio e olio. Or maybe some carbonara… with guanciale and lots of black pepper. Yeah, that sounds good,” she hummed, nuzzling his cheek. He could tell she was still exhausted, and half of what she was saying was just rambling. He helped her shrug the robe on again, and tucked her back into bed.

“I’ll get you something to eat. Just lay down and get some rest,” he rasped. Suddenly too tired to protest, she only nodded as she nestled back into the plush pillows, pulling the comforter up over her head.

“Don’t take too long,” she mumbled. He wrapped around her through the bedclothes, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

There was companionable silence between them while Emara greedily ate the food he had brought her. He’d made spaghetti aglio e olio, like she’d suggested, and she didn’t know if it was because Gabriel had made it for her, or because it had been days since she’d eaten anything—or maybe it was both—but she swore it was the best damn thing she’d ever put in her mouth.

The garlic stung the cut on her lip, and the rough patches inside her mouth, but she ate without complaint. He watched her with a soft expression, but she could see that his gaze was distant. Flicking the tip of his nose to get his attention, she smiled sweetly when he focused on her.

“Something is bothering you,” she said sagely, as if it weren’t written all over his face.

He sighed as he took her hand to kiss the back of her palm, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “What am I going to do about you?” He wondered aloud.

She shrugged. “The same thing we’ve always done—it’s need to know, right?”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

It hadn’t been snappish, but it had been deliberate and forceful. Emara’s brow furrowed. “I don’t mind, Gabe. I mean, we did it for years️ in Overwatch, and—”

“And I’m not doing it again,” he cut her off. “I spent damn near a decade pretending I didn’t care about you beyond your worth as a cog in a machine because of _regulation_. I’m done playing games.” He paused as his expression softened. “But that’s not actually what I was talking about.”

She remained quiet, watching him as she continued to chew.

“Talon knows about you, now. They’ve probably known for a while. I should have been more careful…” He trailed off, his expression growing hard. Emara paused as she finished her mouthful, then sighed.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” she put in, repeating her statement from earlier. He raised a brow at her. “You couldn’t play hookie forever, Gabe—and we both knew that. Sooner or later, Talon was going to either start snooping, or asking questions.”

“They should have asked questions.”

“Well, they sort of did…”

“They should have asked _me_ questions,” Gabriel corrected with a wince.

Emara shook her head. “No. If they had, you would have just obfuscated and run them in circles, and I think they know that. Gagliardi and Bonheur told me they were already suspicious for a while before they picked me up.” Gabriel grew tense at the mention of the interrogators, and was briefly reminded of the fact he would need to deal with them later. His brow furrowed as he looked at her with a strange sort of sadness—because she’d been unwilling to talk about what happened, before.

“What did they say?”

“A lot of shit,” she replied, angrily shoving a forkful of pasta into her mouth. “Bonheur was more roundabout with his questioning, and I could tell he was trying to confuse me into a corner so I’d willingly give up something incriminating about you. There was nothing to give up, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Gagliardi was more direct, and also more prone to physical violence. Most of the visible damage is his fault. Bonheur was more fond of the electrodes, and psychological battering.” She paused, her discomfort palpable.

Gabriel bristled. “They should have come to me, instead of doing… whatever _this_ was supposed to be.”

“It didn’t play out exactly how they expected it to,” Emara admitted, scooping the last bite into her mouth. She handed him the bowl with a quiet _thank you_ as he watched her, perplexed.

“What do you mean? How did they expect it to play out?”

“I assume you found the ‘calling card’ I left, yeah? The epaulette from Danforth’s uniform in my apartment?” He nodded. “Yea, that wasn’t supposed to happen. I did that in the hope that _someone_ would find it, though ideally, it would be you. But, if you hadn’t found my clue, or I hadn’t been able to leave one behind, would you have had any idea where to go, or what to do in order to find me?”

He worked his jaw for a few seconds. “...No.”

“What would your options have been, then—finding my apartment upturned and me missing, and no indication of who had taken me?”

He didn’t really have to consider his answer for very long—he’d have come to Talon. What other option was there? They were the only ones who would have had the resources to help him find her in any reasonable amount of time. He might not have made a spectacle of getting help, but he would have made use of them, without question. “...I would have come to Talon, and used their resources to track you down.”

“That’s exactly what they were hoping for.”

“Tell me what they said.”

She sighed, her expression twisting like the memory was painful. “Tell you what,” she bargained. “You go deal with the dishes, I’ll brush my teeth, and I’ll tell you about it when you come back.”

There was a meaningful pause while they looked at each other. She was asking for space to compartmentalise—he recognised that need, and pressed a lingering kiss against her forehead.

“Okay.”

* * *

She was sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him as he entered. Her gaze moved around the room, like she was taking in her surroundings, but he caught her chin to make her look at him. After a brief pause, she beckoned him in. With a smirk, he obliged her.

She pressed a lingering kiss against the space beneath his ear and put her arms around his shoulders, tucking into the crook of his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. Much of what she meant by that went unsaid, but was heavily implied by her tone, and it made his heart ache.

He put an arm around her waist, pulling her in against him as he crawled onto the bed and slid under the covers. She let herself be guided along, and pressed her cheek into his chest with a long sigh as she drew her fingers along his scars. He squeezed the nape of her neck, and leaned down to press a kiss against her forehead, waiting for her to speak.

“They wanted to use me as bait and leverage,” she began, leaning into the furrow of his shoulder. He stiffened, and she pressed a lingering kiss against his shallow pulse, thumbing along his jaw. “Bonheur told me that they had been suspicious of your movements for some time, so they’d been watching you closely, and that’s how they found out about me. He said they started wondering what you might be telling me—trade secrets or something, I guess.”

“I never told you anything—”

“I know,” she stopped him. “I told them the same thing, and I think they already knew that, but they still tortured me under the guise of ‘being certain’. I think they just get off on the power play.” She heard as much as felt the rumbling growl in his chest, and kissed his throat again.

“I asked them what the point of kidnapping me was, since you work for them. They said that when you found I was missing, with no idea who took me, you’d be forced to come to them for aid. He didn’t explicitly come out and say it, but I think it was supposed to be more or less their way of forcing you to admit that you’d been seeing me. But I digress—after you came to them for help, they would relocate me, and then run you in circles a bit before they let you come and ‘rescue’ me…”

Gabriel let out a low snarl, fingers digging into the nape of her neck. She flinched, and he let up with a quiet _sorry_ , before he put his arms around her.

“Did they think I wouldn’t find out it was them, after the fact?” He sounded equally bewildered and furious.

She shrugged. “They said it wouldn’t matter, because by the time you found out, we’d both be under Talon’s thumb. I’d be alive, so we wouldn’t have room to complain…”

He stared at the ceiling, listening to the soft sound of her breathing and the gentle thrum of the emitter on the bedside table while he combed his fingers through her hair. They weren’t really wrong. Talon probably knew there would be some kind of repercussions for kidnapping her, but it would be mitigated by having her to use against him as emotional leverage.

“They want me to work for them, too,” she added. That nearly made him hiss, and she could practically _feel_ the tension in his jaw. “They made the ‘offer’ a few times while they were questioning me. I told them I wouldn’t give them an answer until after you came for me. The problem is, it wasn’t an offer, and I know they’ll only take one answer.”

“You don’t have to do anything—”

“I do, Gabriel,” she interrupted, sitting up. “They know about me, now. More than that, they know about _us_. I don’t have any other options. I can’t hide behind you forever, and I wouldn’t, anyway. You know that’s not my style. To be honest, though, the only thing that _really_ concerns me is that they threatened _you_ , and I don’t know what they’re capable of, but I’m not willing to take a risk and find out.”

“They can’t hurt me, Emara,” he assured her. “They can’t hurt you, either—I’ll kill them if they try.”

Emara couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “You don’t know that, Gabe. I know you think you do, but Talon is cunning. They’ve proven that, time and again, so I don’t know why you suddenly think that just because you’re in their fold, you know better than they do. You didn’t know they were tracking your movements, or that they knew about me—what else don’t you know?” He swallowed, but didn’t have anything to add. “What’s there to say they don’t know more about your condition than you think—or worse, have a kill switch? I won’t risk that.”

“They _don’t_ have a kill switch,” he growled, fingers digging into her hips. “They can’t hurt either of us.” He sounded sure, but suddenly he didn’t _feel_ quite so certain. He knew his value to them, and they did, too.

They knew, and yet they’d still planned all of this. Nothing she had said so far had been wrong. That thought gave him pause.

Emara gave him a wan smile. “Maybe they don’t. But maybe they do. Even if they don’t, I’m certain there are ways they can hurt you, and I don’t have the same paths for recourse that you might. I can’t show up and pull someone’s spine out to beat them to death with it—” Gabriel snorted, and she stifled a hollow giggle. “I don’t want them to hurt you, Gabriel—”

“They won’t hurt me. They only thing they can use to hurt me is you, and I’d never let them—”

“Let me finish,” she snapped, her expression hard. “They _can_ hurt you. It’s Talon—they have an angle for everything, and you know that even better than I do. Whether it’s hurting me to get to you, or directly attacking you in some way, I’m not willing to give them that angle.

“Even if you’re valuable, every person’s value has its limit to them—of that I’m sure. As for me, even if you discarded me—” His expression darkened, fingers digging into her side. “I’m still a soft target. I can’t run away, or try to hide—they’d kill me on principle to keep me quiet.”

A pregnant silence hung between them as they regarded one another, and he reached up to cradle her face. She turned and kissed his palm slowly, covering his hand with her own before tucking her fingers into his.

“What are you going to do?” He asked.

She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “What I _want_ to do is destroy every single last one of these assholes. Not just for what they did to me, but for what they did to Overwatch. What they did to _you_ …” A beat. “But I can’t do that, can I? I’m just one person, and I don’t have even a fraction of the resources they do. So… what _can_ I do?”

He didn’t have any answer for her, but by her tone, he knew she didn’t really expect one. She leaned down to press a soft kiss against his mouth. He reciprocated, gladly, one hand gripping the back of her hair as he pulled her closer. Her hands were warm on his skin as she cradled his face, pausing for a breath and leaning her forehead against his.

His thumb brushed along her pulse. “So… what do you want, Emara?”

“You.” She kissed him, more forceful this time, thumbs drifting over the shape of his cheekbones. When they parted, he sighed against her mouth.

“You know what I meant,” he muttered, though he wasn’t actually complaining.

“And it doesn’t change my answer, Gabriel. I want you.” She leaned back to look at him, and he couldn’t read her expression. “I told you, years and years ago, that I’m loyal to you. That hasn’t changed. It’s never been about morality—that shit is too grey. But you? I know you. I know what your trajectory has always been. I know there’s more to this arrangement you have with Talon than its face value. I won’t ask you to share, unless you want to— _plausible deniability_ , right?”

He winced, and her features softened—of course she knew. Maybe not the specifics, but she knew him. She knew that what was going on wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

“I only have one question for you, before I make my choice.”

Gabriel considered her, his expression oddly fond as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “What is it?”

“Do you want me?”

“Yes.”

Emara sighed as she kissed him again, soft and slow as her hands rested over his chest, feeling the subtle thrum of his heartbeat. “Then you already know what I’m going to do.”

“Em—”

“I’m with you. Wherever this path leads us, I’ve got you.” She brushed a thumb along his brow, her expression one of sad fondness. “Just like you’ve got me. You’re stuck with me, Reyes. Sorry, not sorry.”

Gabriel let out a throaty laugh, and shook his head, drawing her down into another soft kiss. When they parted, his lips lingered on her forehead, and she sighed.

“Thank you.” It wasn’t enough, but for now, it would have to suffice. “I got you a few things from the quartermaster to tide you over until we can get you something more permanent,” he said, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Do you think I might be able to go home?” She asked, and he raised a brow. “I don’t mean to leave permanently—I know that’s not on the table, no matter what Bonheur tried to imply. I’d just like to… I don’t know, grab a few things? Some clothes, some photos… my stuff, you know?”

Gabriel stared at the ceiling as he stroked his fingers through her hair. “I’ll make it happen,” he said. “It might take me a few days to find the right people, but after this bullshit they pulled, I’m going to make sure that they’re groveling to me for a while.”

He rubbed her back a little too hard, like he was trying to calm himself down. “I don’t know who made the call to bring you in, or put you into Bonheur’s hands, but I’m going to find out.” _And I’m going to pull out their spine to beat them to death with it._

Emara hummed, nuzzling into the cool plane of his chest. “As long as you’re with me when I go,” she mumbled. “I don’t trust anyone else to have my back.”

“They’ll send us with an escort, but I’ll be with you,” he nodded. “You’ll be considered equal parts asset and flight risk—and so will I, if they’re smart. Either way, they won’t want you getting too far away.”

“Oh, is Paris close to Venice?” She quipped.

Gabriel chuckled as he pressed a thumb against her mouth. “Don’t be a smartass.” She nipped at him with a cheeky grin. He watched her fondly, and felt a sense of content settle in his chest.

He remembered all those years in Overwatch, dancing around the tightly guarded secret of their relationship—compartmentalising, forcing professionalism and cool courtesy over tenderness and open affection. _Discretion_ had been the rule of the day, and _discretion_ was a gentle term for how they had operated. The only two people who knew for certain besides them had been Ana, and Jack. Ana had been the first to know— _because a woman always knows_ , she’d said. Then, Jack; because he had the privilege and the burden of ensuring there was no abuse of power. Beyond that, others might have suspected, and rumours would sometimes circulate, but no one could ever have proven anything.

The situation as it was now certainly wasn’t perfect—hell, it wasn’t even ideal. It had never been his _intent_ to drag her down into the mess of Talon’s inner workings, but he wondered to himself— _what exactly did I expect to happen?_ No, he knew that getting involved with her again had made this as likely an outcome as any. Ideally, there would have been less kidnapping and torture, but to have her end up here… well, it was to be expected, he supposed. And it was what he wanted, after a fashion. He left a lingering kiss on her forehead, trying to clear his thoughts.

Here she was, now, at his disposal, with no protocol or regulation to hold either of them back. Sure, Talon had _rules_ , but that wasn’t going to stop him. Not now. He could take up her time whenever and however he felt like it, and she could do the same—that knowledge made him feel settled in a way he hadn’t for quite some time.

“Where are you, Gabe?” Her voice was soft, lined at the edges with sleep. Delicate fingers drifted along the scruff of his jaw, and he sighed.

“I’m right here, Em,” he murmured, another idle kiss on her forehead. She knew that wasn’t quite true, but she’d gotten his attention anyway. His fingers raked along the small of her back, and she sighed.

“Does this mean I get to move in with you?” Her voice was playful, but something in her expression was longing and hopeful. He brushed his thumb over her lips, and kissed the corner of her mouth.

“It’ll be interesting finally using the kitchen again, after all this time,” he teased. Emara snorted, but her smile was genuine. He wondered if she was happy.

“Good. I’ll make you macarons to celebrate, when I’m back in fighting shape,” she mumbled, drawing lazy, open-mouthed kisses over his chest. “And don’t say you can’t eat them anymore. I know you were sneaking the ones in my freezer.” A beat. “It’s okay. I made them for you, anyway.”

_That_ made his heart hurt. She had done that on purpose, he belatedly realised, and gave her a hard squeeze as he nuzzled into the crown of her dark hair.

“Get some rest,” he finally said. “I’ll find out what I need to do to get an escort, and we’ll go get some things from your apartment.”

She realised that she was finally starting to feel _sleepy_ , instead of just exhausted. Maybe it was the food, or the shower, or the emitter, or Gabriel’s care—or maybe it was some combination of all those things. After a pause, she pressed a kiss against the side of his throat, smiling with satisfaction at the low rumble in his chest.

“Let’s get some sleep, then,” she whispered, fingers teasing the hook of his jaw.

“I don’t sleep,” he mumbled. She _laughed_.

“Okay, Edge Lord,” she sighed. “You can play mattress and watch me sleep, then.” He chuckled as he shifted to lay flat on his back, tugging the blankets up and tucking her in against his chest. He was cold, but she happily cuddled into him, reveling in the low, slow thrum of his heartbeat. With a stretch, he reached over to tap out the light, and the room was engulfed in darkness, but for the low glow from the emitter. She hummed as she nuzzled into his chest.

“I think we both knew this was bound to happen eventually—I knew I couldn’t stay hidden forever, once you came back. But, you know, despite everything… I’m just glad I’m here with you, finally. It’s where I should be—by your side…”

Silence hung between them in the darkness, a flicker of anxiety wrapping around his heart. He squeezed at the nape of her neck, and she turned her gaze up to him, as if she sensed his disquiet.

“I told you before, Gabriel—I’m with you to the end,” she whispered, leaning up to press a kiss against his mouth. “No matter what path it takes us down. This is where I want to be, and where I belong.”

He wondered if she was saying it for his benefit, or her own. Watching her for a long minute, his thumb drew over the shape of her cheekbone, and the curve of her lips. She kissed the pad of his thumb, and he couldn’t help his smile, drawing her into a soft kiss.

“And I’m with you, Emara,” he whispered against her mouth. “I’ve got you.” _And I won’t let go, this time._ She hummed as she nuzzled down into his chest again.

“Will you still be here when I wake up?”

He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a last kiss against her crown. “I will.”

“You promise?” She stuck up her pinky, and he huffed out a chuckle as he hooked his digit around hers, twisting.

“Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! If you liked my writing, please leave me a comment to let me know! It makes my day every time, and helps motivate me to continue writing! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭♡


	9. Parva Sub Ingenti

Fingers traced across her collarbones, and her throat closed up. She tried to wiggle away from the touch, fear twisting in her guts.

“What’s the matter, _principessa_ ,” Gagliardi’s low voice sneered. “Don’t you like it when we tease you?”

The knot in her stomach felt like it was forcing its way up her throat, her ears ringing against the bass of her heartbeat. Her skin prickled and felt wrong, and she jerked against her bonds.

“Oh, Emara,” Bonheur’s silky voice purred too close to her ear. “You look so pretty when you struggle. Keep trying. It just makes things more exciting.”

Gagliardi’s laugh was cruel. “And you sound so delicious when you scream, _principessa_.” The hard nub of the baton pressed against the middle of her spine. “So scream.”

 _Click_.

Emara gasped as she sat up straight. Heart racing, she took stock of her unfamiliar surroundings. On the bedside table, a biotic emitter hummed softly. Cool fingers on the nape of her neck made her flinch.

“You alright?” Gabriel’s voice was rough. Had he been asleep? Emara took a long minute to find her voice again.

“Fine,” she whispered, the word dry and brittle. “I’m fine.”

The mattress shifted as he sat up next to her. “You want to talk about it?”

“I said I’m fine.” Her posture was tense, and Gabriel blew out a slow breath. She sniffled, and a cold arm wrapped around her middle. He pulled her closer, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

“It was just a dream.”

“A bad one,” he mumbled.

She laughed dryly. “It’s not a big deal,” she insisted. “I was just back in a room with them—Bonheur and Gagliardi.” Gabriel stiffened, and she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not there anymore. They can’t hurt me. I’m safe.”

Silence hung between them for some minutes as the loud bass of her heartbeat slowly faded into the background. A soft kiss against her shoulder made her sigh.

“Did I wake you?”

He shrugged. “I’m not really used to sleeping, anymore.”

“I thought you didn’t sleep.” She was trying to be cheeky, but her voice trembled.

He chuckled, giving her another kiss. “I don’t.”

She worked her jaw, sliding her tongue around inside her mouth to check the damage. The emitter had done a lot of work while she slept, but some things still required nature to take its course.

“Do you want to get dressed?” Gabriel’s voice cut through the silence.

The idea of putting on actual clothes—and clean ones, at that—sounded delightful. She nodded, and Gabriel slid off the bed.

She scooted over and swung her legs over the edge, watching as he picked up a satchel off the floor, handing it to her. She upturned the contents, and picked through them. They were all a combination of black or charcoal with red accents.

“It’s all standard issue, but it’s comfortable.”

“It looks way too high quality for what I’d call ‘standard issue’,” she said. “But I guess Talon likes to be fancy like that.”

Gabriel smirked, but didn’t reply. Emara stared at the pile of clothes on the bed, and he watched as her eyes slowly glazed over.

“Hey.” He caught her chin, tipping her face up. Her gaze became lucid again, but her expression crumbled.

“Sorry, I—” Her breath hitched, eyes watering. “I’m sorry…”

He hushed her, picking up a long-sleeve compression shirt from the pile, helping her wiggle into it, then a pair of leggings. “We’ll get you some fuzzy slippers to keep your feet warm,” he teased her. “I know how bad your circulation is.”

She didn’t speak, but leaned her forehead against his chest. One hand pressed against the centre of her back, rubbing slow circles as the other cradled the nape of her neck.

“You alright?” He rasped. He knew the answer already, but he wanted to see if she’d say it. She shook her head. Well, she hadn’t _said_ it, but that was probably as good as he was going to get out of her, for now.

“I will be,” she whispered. “I think…”

“What do you need?”

She put her arms around his torso, squeezing tightly. “I just need you, right now.”

“Are you hungry?”

She nodded, but didn’t relinquish him.

“I can’t go get you something if you’re stuck to me like Velcro,” he teased, fingers carding through her hair.

“Can I go with you, this time?” Her voice was muffled by the way she had squished her face into his chest, but the request was clear enough. When he didn’t answer, her fingers gripped a little tighter at his shirt. “Please, Gabriel…”

When she pleaded with him like that, he wanted to give in. But the idea of taking her out into the compound filled him with a sort of anxiety. He still had no idea what the repercussions would be for interfering, and the risk to her might be greater than he anticipated. He wasn’t concerned for his own safety—he wasn’t in danger. But Emara didn’t have the same kind of immunity, and he’d had a long time alone with his thoughts while she slept.

Still, he knew he couldn’t keep her holed up in his quarters forever, and if she was going to take on a contract with Talon, she’d be set loose in the compound anyway. He wondered briefly if the offer of employment would still be relevant, now that he’d quashed their schemes.

“Alright,” he gritted out. She melted against him, fingers bunching up into his shirt as she gave him a squeeze.

“Thank you…”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he muttered. “I still don’t know what the consequences are for interfering.”

She stiffened. “I don’t care, Gabriel. I don’t care about consequences, as long as I can stay with you. The rest is details.”

“It’s not that simple, Emara,” he growled. Squeezing her eyes shut, she held onto him like she could meld into him if she just tried a little harder.

“I know it’s not, Gabe. But I can’t think about it in a broader scope right now.” A beat of silence past, and he felt her trembling. “I’m scared…”

There it was. He let out a slow breath as he leaned down, pressing his face into her crown. “I know,” he murmured. “I know, and I can’t promise you anything, but you have my word—I’ll do whatever I can to keep you safe.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. “Things have always been messed up—ever since I thought you died. I don’t care, anymore, I just want you. I don’t know what’s going on, or what’s going to happen, but I don’t care. I just know that I can’t lose you again. I wasn’t strong enough, before, and now that I have you back… I can’t. Not again.” Her words came out clipped and aching, caught on sobbing breaths. “If you send me away—”

He hushed her, cradling her face in his hands as he tipped her up to look at him. “Eyes on me, Benhayoun.”

She obeyed, though her gaze remained unfocused and hazy as she gripped his wrists. Tension bled out of her as he held on, keeping her focus on him. His rasping voice gentled, guiding her through breathing as she slowly calmed down.

“I’m sorry…” she mumbled once she’d leveled out. Gabriel shook his head and pressed a soft kiss against her mouth, her face still cradled in his hands.

“I’ve got you,” he said, touching his forehead against hers. “I’m with you.”

She let out a long, deep sigh as she slowly nodded, leaning up to kiss him again. “Thank you.”

He smiled and left a last peck on her cheek before he stood back. “You still feel like something to eat?”

She nodded. He picked up a hoodie from the bed, and helped her wriggle into it. It was a size or two too big, but she seemed unbothered, letting him sit her back down on the edge of the bed while he dressed himself.

She found his mask discarded on the bedside table, and picked it up. Holding it in her hands, her fingers traced along the contours, lingering over some of the deeper grooves and scratches. His fingers closed over hers, and she jumped, looking up at him. He gave her a wan smile as he took the mask from her and fixed it in place.

She swallowed. That was her privilege, and no one else’s. Reaching up, she thumbed over the space beneath his eye, then stood.

“How should we do this?” He cocked his head curiously, and she went on. “I mean… are you escorting a prisoner or—”

He stopped her, clawed thumb pressed against her lips. Leaning down, his mask hovered barely inches from her face. “No. You’re mine, Benhayoun. Better that people know, so they can give you a wide berth.”

The possessiveness in his voice made her breath stutter, but she still managed to snort as she rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.” She gave the beak of his mask a soft peck.

She could hear his smirk as he hummed, standing back. He glanced at his gauntleted hand, covered with claws and spikes, then hers, and let out a soft grumble—that wouldn’t work. At least, not comfortably. Instead, he offered his arm, which she took with a soft giggle—the sound made a pleasant warmth bloom out in his chest. Facing the doorway, he led her out.

* * *

It was the middle of the night, so they didn’t meet very many people in their trek to the cafeteria. The few that they did see gave them a wide berth—his reputation may have preceded him, but even if it didn’t, his appearance when he was fully kitted was intimidating on its own. Either way, at 4:00 in the morning, traffic was lighter.

He was glad. He hadn’t been lying about what he’d said—it _was_ better if people knew she was involved with him. He had a reputation, and many were afraid of it, and that would afford her some protection. Still, he also worried that his reputation might put her in danger just as easily as it protected her.

She watched him fondly from her seat, chin resting on the back of her hand. There was something mildly absurd about someone with his intimidating demeanour standing at a stove, cooking for her. She stifled a giggle, and he glanced over his shoulder.

His short hum made her smile—of course he’d come to the same conclusion. She slipped out of her seat and closed the distance between them. As she sidled up next to him, curling against his side, he stiffened.

“Oh, sorry,” she murmured, putting some space between them. “Didnt mean to overstep—”

“You didn’t,” he stopped her. “It’s alright.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to be close, it was that he was still getting used to it. For all his talk of being done playing games, he was still working on it.

He curled an arm around her shoulders and drew her in, pressing his mask against her crown. He was sure it looked ridiculous, and certainly felt awkward, but it was all they could muster. She laughed as she put her arms around his torso and gave him a squeeze before she stood back.

“I guess it’s going to take us a little while to get used to this,” she murmured, resting a hand on his upper arm, instead.

“We’ll figure it out,” he replied, pouring the egg, goat cheese and chive mixture over a toasted sourdough slice. He offered the plate to her, and she took it, finding her seat again.

She ate too quickly, wolfing the plate of fancy scrambled eggs down before Gabriel had finished washing the dishes. His cooking was always good, even now, but the pleasant tang of the goat cheese added a layer that made it even better.

With a soft groan, she rested her forehead against the table, waiting for Gabriel to finish up. She sensed his presence behind her, and sighed as he rubbed at the nape of her neck.

“How are you feeling?” He rasped.

“Better,” she admitted. “I ate too fast, though, so I’ve got a stomach ache…”

Gabriel chuckled. “Do you want to bring some snacks back? I don’t have a kitchen, but there’s a small fridge in my quarters.”

“Is there any fruit?”

“Lots. Come have a look.”

* * *

She sat on the sofa in Gabriel’s quarters, slowly picking through her bowl of fruit. He’d helped her prep the melon, pears, and strawberries, and she’d snagged a few cherries, for good measure.

Gabriel was absorbed in his tablet, and she regarded him from her seat. For a brief moment it reminded her of their late nights together, all those years ago. Budget reviews, mission reports, the day’s events—they would chat quietly between moments of silence while they finished up their work.

She reached over and played her fingers through his curls. He stiffened, then closed his eyes as he let out a ragged sigh. Her brow furrowed in concern, and she paused.

“Everything alright?”

His hum rumbled in his chest, and he nodded. “I’m just not used to that,” he admitted. “I miss it.”

Emara smiled sheepishly, setting the bowl of fruit aside and grabbing his shoulders. He didn’t resist her. In fact, he quite readily went along with it, letting her settle his head into her lap.

She took her time sliding her fingers through his hair, working her fingers into his scalp. He groaned loudly, eyes closed as he squirmed. Her touch slid over his throat, and down over the planes of his chest. He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing her fingers, palm, and the delicate skin of her wrist.

“Careful,” he rumbled, peeking one eye open at her.

“Or what?” She teased, leaning over to kiss his forehead. He considered her for a moment while he mulled his answer— _or I won’t be able to hold back_. By the way she was looking at him, he wondered if that would be taken as a threat, or a promise. He grabbed the back of her hair, pulling her down into a kiss, long and slow. She sighed his name against his mouth, and heat pooled out from his core, skittering over frayed nerves.

 _I want you_. It had been too long since they had been intimate. But was it too soon for her? After everything she’d gone through, how keen would she really be for that? He returned his attention to her, instead of his wandering thoughts. It worked for a moment, but she tasted sweet, and she was so warm against him. Her fingers were delicate as they traced patterns over his scalp.

She shifted and swung a leg over him, straddling his hips as she leaned down to kiss him again. The way she ground against his body wasn’t lost on him, and his own resolve was wearing thin. Maybe it wasn’t too soon.

She took his hands and placed them over her breasts, nails grazing down his forearms. He purred as he caressed her through the soft fabric of her shirt, and was rewarded with a low moan. Her head tipped back as she arched into his touch. He sat up, pulling her into another kiss. One hand slipped between them, fingers stroking along the crease of her groin. Her breath caught against his mouth as her hips twitched, and he smiled as his teeth caught on her lip.

“You’re soaking through your leggings,” he purred, his mouth drawing down along her throat.

She canted her hips against his touch. “Better get them off before I ruin them, then,” she said. She had tried to come across as cocky, but her voice trembled too much. Gabriel smirked as he pushed his hand into her pants, cool fingers caressing over slick folds. She swore as she ground against him, whining as she bit her lip.

A soft, rhythmic beeping cut through the ardour of their embrace, and they both stiffened. Emara squeezed her eyes shut—of _course_ they’d summon him now, just as things were getting good. There was a pause as the beeping continued, and then Gabriel eased her out of his lap.

Much as it chagrined them, they both knew it was in their best interests not to delay a response if he was actually being called. Silence hung in the air as the pressure faded. Emara slowly regulated her breathing, and willed away the subtle ache that flared between her thighs.

She threw an arm over her eyes, leaning back into the couch. She listened to the rustle of fabric and clinking of metal as he redressed himself.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said gently, and then departed.

* * *

She hadn’t planned on falling asleep, but she was still recovering from her ordeal, and the couch was pretty comfortable.

Gabriel’s cool touch along her side roused her, and she looked up at him longingly. His expression softened when their eyes met, and he leaned down to kiss her softly. He took a seat next to her as she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“Ortega pulled some strings for me. We’re going back to your flat later tonight under guard. We can collect some things for you, like you wanted.” The sentence ended abruptly, and she instinctively understood there was more to be said. She reached for him, and he took her outstretched hand.

“And?”

He leaned into her with a sigh—because of course she could read him—and pressed a lingering kiss against her crown. “If you take on the contract they’re offering, it sounds like you’ll be confined to the compound, for now. You won’t be allowed to leave without an escort, and your travel will be restricted.”

“ _If_ I take the contract?” She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t realise there was an alternative…”

There was a pause while Gabriel considered her with a steely, unrelenting gaze. “I’ve still got ratlines—”

“ _No_.” The word was forceful and carried a finality to it. “I’m not stupid enough to think they wouldn’t waste resources to find me again. But I know that this time, I wouldn’t be coming back to Venice. Not in one piece, anyway.” Gabriel scowled at that, and she sighed. “I already told you, Gabriel—I made my choice. I’m not going into hiding. When—and it _is_ when, not if—they found me again, they’d kill me on principle.”

“They won’t find you if I stay away—”

“Don’t you dare,” Emara snapped, pointing a finger at him. “I’d rather take my chances and stay here with you than go off the grid at the risk of never being able to see you again.”

He winced, scratching at the hollow of his cheek. “I still don’t know what’s going to happen to you here. They could still hurt you—”

“Let them. I’d rather die here tomorrow and know you’re with me than live another sixty years without you.” It was a dramatic thing to say, but he knew she was serious. “I already faced down that possibility once, Gabriel. I’m not doing it again.”

“Emara—”

“ _Reyes_.” His head snapped up as she said it, like he’d been slapped. “Don’t argue with me about this, Gabriel. I know you don’t want me to get hurt. I don’t want that either. But I’d rather take that risk than try to keep going without you.” A beat. “Especially now that I know your hare-brained ass is still alive.”

Gabriel laughed, grateful for the break in tension. “Well, I don’t know if I’d call myself _alive_ —”

Emara pressed her palm against his chest. Her fingers splayed over cool skin as her brows lifted expectantly. Gabriel sighed as he closed his hand over hers.

“It’s not that simple, Em—”

“It is,” she stopped him. “You don’t have to agree with me, but I don’t care about the details. You’re here with me. That’s enough.”

Gabriel sighed, pressing a gentle kiss against her mouth. “You’re a brat,” he muttered. Emara giggled as she put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down onto the couch. He had already undressed before he’d woken her, and they shuffled around until they settled down into the cushions. Gabriel rested atop her while she rubbed his shoulders. Delicate fingers coursed through his hair, and she nuzzled his forehead.

“You want to pick up where we left off earlier?” He purred, fingers grazing down the soft fabric on her thighs.

“Maybe later,” she hummed, fingers flexing along his scalp. “I’m not really feeling all that frisky, now.” She was surprised to see him pouting. He sighed, then leaned into the hollow of her shoulder to leave a soft kiss there.

“Alright. Maybe later,” he mused.

* * *

Emara’s fingers brushed over the frame of a photo, then the dog tags that sat next to Gabriel’s portrait on the mantle. She picked up the tags and pulled the cord over her head. Tucking the cool metal in against her chest, she heard Gabriel grunt behind her.

He was unreadable with that mask firmly in place, but by the way his shoulders slumped, he wasn’t happy. She glanced at the plain-clothes Talon agent who stood at the threshold of her living room, guarding it against her—against them both—then back towards Gabriel. She didn’t need the photos—and more than that, _he_ didn’t want them, she realised. It was a painful reminder for them both of a life that they had lost, and that they could never have back.

 _I have him now,_ she reminded herself. _It’s not the same, but I still love him, and I still want him. That’s enough._

She stepped away from the mantle and looked around again. Everything had been put back in its place, even the raven statue. The blood and tea and everything else had all been cleaned up. It all looked neat and pristine, like it had before everything had gone so wrong. She sighed.

“It feels weird…”

Gabriel nodded towards her, waiting for her to continue.

“I built my life in this flat after…” She paused, stopping herself from saying _after you died_. She swallowed. “After everything went south. I’m not sad. It just feels… so odd.” She wrung her hands together while she looked up at him, like she was asking him to say something. He didn’t.

She took another breath. “What about my job? My parents and my friends?”

The Talon agent huffed in annoyance. “Oh, my God, lady, can you cry about this later?”

Gabriel’s head snapped towards him. “Wait outside.”

The other man flinched. “Sir?”

“Did I stutter?” He hissed, fully turning towards the agent.

The other man shook his head. “Sir,” he said, then slunk towards the door.

Gabriel waited until he heard the click of the door closing, then turned back to her. “Ortega will make sure everything is handled as tactfully as possible.” She watched him, and he closed the distance between them, thumbing along her chin. “You can talk to him about what you want communicated, but know that you probably can’t see most of them for a while.” A beat. “I don’t know what Talon’s plans with you are, but—”

She nodded and bowed her head, swallowing thickly.

He pulled her closer, putting his arms around her in a gesture of comfort. “Take as much time as you need.”

It was an intimate and sympathetic gesture, and one she knew he didn’t afford to anyone else. She melted into him, her forehead pressed against his chassis. She didn’t feel like crying, but she felt some jumbled knot of emotions stuck in her chest.

 _It was bound to happen, eventually_ , she reminded herself again _. This is what I wanted, even if it’s not exactly the situation in which I wanted it._ She took a deep breath.

“I’m just tired,” she murmured. “Let me be with you—” she curled her fingers around his gauntleted ones. “The rest is details.”

After a long minute passed, she took a step back and he released his hold on her. When she looked up at him, a pleasant warmth bloomed out in his chest, and for a moment, everything else fell away. He caught her chin in his fingers, and leaned down to press his forehead against hers.

With the cold of his mask touching her skin, she sighed as she closed her eyes, the hard metal of his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. She took his head in her hands and leaned up to put a kiss against the the beak of his mask, then stood back.

“So, what happens now?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. It was an uncomfortable truth, but no less true for being so. She only nodded, but the melancholy in her expression deepened as she looked away. He caught her chin again, drawing her back to look up at him.

He lifted his mask off, which made her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Gabriel…” she whispered his name like a warning.

He leaned forward and left a soft kiss against her forehead. “I’ve got you, Em. I promise,” he said, his voice barely loud enough for even her to hear.

She sighed as she put her arms around his neck, giving him a squeeze. “I believe you,” she whispered. “I’ve got you, too. I’m at your back, to whatever end.” He gave her a brief smile before replacing his mask. She was still apprehensive, but it had been what she needed.

It was enough.

“Ready?”

She laughed, but the sound was empty as she lifted the box of her things from the floor. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s go.”

* * *

She stared at the glowing screen in her hands, listening idly as Gabriel explained the requisition process. He was cold at her back, even through the plush blanket he’d wrapped around her shoulders. Her head hurt, and her limbs felt heavy.

“Are you even listening to me?” He asked her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

She sighed as she dropped the tablet into the bedclothes. “I know it’s important, Gabriel, but I’m exhausted—”

Cold lips pressed against her pulse, sending a shiver up her spine. “Do you want me to let you sleep?”

“If you’re asking whether I want you to go,” she began, twitching as cool fingers drifted up her arms, “the answer is no—I want you to stay here, with me.”

“You won’t be too cold?” He teased, teeth grazing the slope of her shoulder. She shivered, but not entirely because of the temperature difference.

“I’m sure you’ll find some way to keep me warm.”

Gabriel hummed as he nipped her ear, not missing how her breath caught in her throat. “Maybe tomorrow,” he mused, fingers brushing over the shape of her breasts. “Why don’t I use my mouth to wake you up?”

Emara squeezed her thighs together as she squirmed—the thought of it made heat flare between her legs. Leaning back, she coaxed him down into a soft kiss, arching up into his hands as he tweaked the tender buds of her nipples. “You promise?”

Gabriel chuckled against her lips, then nuzzled her cheek. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! If you liked my writing, the best way to let me know is to leave me a comment! It really makes my day, and helps motivate me to continue! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭♡


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